


you could call me 'babe' (for the weekend)

by dwoht



Category: The Wilds (TV 2020)
Genre: Childhood Friends, F/F, angst but in a fluffy way, basically a tis the damn season dorothea au, i feel like i should tag for smut but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:02:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29325156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwoht/pseuds/dwoht
Summary: Six years. It’s been six years since Shelby saw those brown eyes in person, and her throat is embarrassingly scruffy when she says dumbly, “I came back for Christmas.”“I see that.” Toni’s voice is mild and controlled, if deeper than it used to be. Even still, Shelby can see clear as day the way her jaw clenches, and the way her fingers have balled into fists where they’re shoved into her pockets. But besides that, and maybe for the first time ever, Shelby has no idea what Toni’s thinking. Right as she’s thinking she might yell at her, Toni says, “So, would you want to come in?”or,The childhood best friends to strangers to lovers AU.
Relationships: Shelby Goodkind/Toni Shalifoe
Comments: 108
Kudos: 370





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> i fleshed this out for a different pair, but didn't really feel it. it fits these two dummies a lot better, and i am much more inspired. hope you like!

**_Now.  
_** Woodstock is a small city.

In fact, Shelby always thought it was more like a town, though if she’s being honest she never fully understood the difference between the two.

It's an odd sort of space, though, because being a residential spread of land, it doesn't actually have anything in it besides houses. Shelby’s parents always prided themselves on the fact that they lived in the rich part of the area, although Shelby was fully aware of how it benefited them a lot more than her.

There’s no coffee shop, cafe, gas station, not even a single grocery store. While rumor has it there are two somewhere, Shelby only ever managed to find one park. Woodstock doesn’t even have a public school, just a private, ridiculously expensive, ridiculously religious Kindergarten through twelfth.

Naturally, Shelby attended Sacred Heart her whole life.

It’s in this city, Tupelo, that Shelby finds her gaze straying from her phone to the window of the Uber.

She passes the elementary school, the middle school, and the high school, the twenty-four hour donut shop, and the two-story library. She refuses to notice how they pass the street where, if you were to continue straight for two blocks and then turn right, you would reach the Blackburn residence. The memories jump out at her, spinning her mind back in time until she feels eighteen again, because really, the city looks exactly the same.

As the ride continues, there’s an adrenaline coursing through her that is far too anxious to be motivating, and a stagnant nothingness drenched in familiarity that reminds her instantly of why she left in the first place.

Tupelo rests just on the inner outskirts of Woodstock, so much too soon for comfort, the Uber is pulling up to her parents house. The driver has been looking back at her every minute since she slid into the backseat at the airport. Shelby would ordinarily comment on that, but lately it’s been getting difficult to tell whether she’s being hit on or recognized for her newfound fame.

She says nothing, and just grabs her bag with a sigh and a five-star review.

Hoping to delay the inevitable, Shelby watches the Uber circle around the driveway, and then head back down the small hill that links up with the street.

She waits for the piercing shrill of, “Shelby, come in and say hello!” but it doesn’t come. Peering into the windows of the three car garage, she’s delighted to find that neither of her parents are actually home.

In any other life, it might be disappointing, hurtful, or even downright devastating to find out her parents were so unexcited for her homecoming that they didn't even make sure to be there for it, but Shelby exhales happily, and lets her shoulders slump. She fishes her key out of her backpack, and as she’s turning the lock, she rolls her eyes at the way her mother _still_ has the doormat outside the entry way, even though nobody is allowed to actually wipe their feet on it lest it gets dirty.

The house smells the same, a strange blend of home and spices and her mother that might be comforting, but really just reeks of calculation. The decor is as spotless and pristine as ever, as is the couch in the main living room nobody is actually permitted to sit on unless guests are over. Shelby marvels at the way she still has the muscle memory of what it’s like to walk around a house that feels as though it’s a museum.

Unconsciously, the way her brain has always done, a distant, but decidedly fond memory of the house she would always escape to resurfaces.

The first time she’d gone over, she remembers she’d gingerly settled herself on the edge of one of the cushions, careful to keep her back straight and pageant-like, or whatever. She remembers she was soon disrupted by the feeling of her new friend launching herself over the back, and flopping onto the other side with grin, feet up and everything.

She remembers how it felt to really breathe for the first time.

Shelby shakes her head, moving up towards the stairs to the second floor, and hating the way even just the thought of that home and that person still brings her more warmth than she ever knew was possible.

As she climbs the stairs, she wonders whether Toni has come back here for Christmas like she has. She wonders if Toni ever even left. And then, scoffing at herself, she wonders whether it’s normal for her to still care.

**_Then — age 13.  
_** There is quite literally nothing in the world Toni would like more than to wear pants.

She’s said — rather, complained — about it many times before, and every time Bernice responds with the same, parental speech about how it _is_ unfair, and it _is_ outdated, and she _should_ be able to wear pants if she wants to, _but_ to remember that she is privileged to even go to the school at all.

Bernice isn’t wrong, and that’s the most frustrating part of it all.

Smoothing down her white polo that is dutifully tucked into the red and blue plaid skirt, she allows herself the small victory that, as an eighth grader, she is now allowed to wear the shirt and skirt combo rather than the designated blouse and jumper for the younger kids.

The truth is, she _is_ privileged to be here, and everyone else knows it, too.

Toni has always been well-aware the Blackburn family isn’t wealthy by any means. While comfortable, them adopting Toni wasn’t due to the overwhelming amounts of cash in their pockets or anything.

She figures they fall somewhere inside acceptably middle-class; enough to spare that they could go to Disneyland once a year, but certainly not rich enough to save for two kids to go to college _and_ send one to a private school that charges thirty-five thousand dollars a year.

So, merit-based scholarship it is.

Nobody is snobby enough to care, and nobody is actually mean to her, but everyone knows, and it becomes all the more obvious on days like today when everyone is back from summer vacation. While they talk about how they went to Hawai’i or Italy or swam with dolphins or zip-lined through the jungle, Toni’s faced with a battle between the fact that she enjoys her normal-person summer months, while still feeling ashamed about them for some reason.

Eating under the bleachers isn’t the most exceptional thing she’s ever done, but it’s levels above the shame of eating in the bathroom, so Toni ducks under the shade of the metal stands and takes it as a win.

Only, there’s someone else there. And it’s Shelby Goodkind.

Shelby has spotted her as well, no more than fifteen paces in front, and the two of them stand-off for a few seconds before Toni’s stomach grumbles and demands that she just sit down and eat. So she does.

Her movements feel awkward and stiff as she tries so hard to look nonchalant that she can’t, but she drops to the ground, crosses her legs, and opens her brown paper bag lunch.

Shelby eyes her for a bit with light hair pulled into an impossibly tight ponytail, but it’s the way she studies the scene before her that makes Toni’s heart race. The exact color of Shelby’s eyes isn’t a hazel or any kind of green Toni’s ever seen before, and really can only be likened to the bright curiosity of plants growing up out of a rainy day.

(Future-Toni would totally make fun of Current-Toni for coming up with that.)

Shelby’s gaze, while decidedly critical, isn’t so much so with distaste but rather as though she’s trying to solve a puzzle.

Eventually, she must make up her mind about something, but instead of sitting on the other side of the area, she closes the gap between them with much more eloquence in her stride than Toni could ever hope for, and sits across from her. Shelby stretches out her legs and crosses her ankles, and then wordlessly dives into her backpack for her own lunch.

Predictably, it mirrors Toni’s almost comically so.

While Shelby has pre-packaged bags of baby carrots and a mini container of Ranch dressing, Toni has sliced regular sized carrots packed in an old Tupperware. A store-bought deli sandwich instead of Toni’s Ziploc, which Martha’s dad makes for her every night before school. Everything about Shelby’s lunch is packaged and polished and perfect, while Toni’s is rough, messy, and oh so homemade.

But Shelby eyes Toni’s paper bag with her name scrawled and a giraffe doodled on it in Sharpie not with judgement. Rather, with a kind of longing obvious only in the set of her jaw and flutter of her eyelids.

It’s almost like she’s never seen a lunch like that before, and if she has, then certainly not one for her. When Toni thinks back on what she knows about the Goodkind family — which isn’t much —, she realizes that could very well be true.

And then they’re just sitting there, eating their sandwiches, and Toni wonders if this is what it’s like to hallucinate. Last time she checked, Shelby didn’t even know she _existed_ , and now they’re eating lunch together like it’s no big deal.

Eventually, Shelby breaks the silence. “So, what did you do over the summer?

And, well, maybe it isn’t.

Toni clears her throat, resting her hands in her lap. “Nothing interesting, I guess. My family likes to go hiking together, so we went camping a few times. I read a lot of books, went berry picking with my… Ber — uh, my mom, learned to make cobbler with my dad, and my sister taught me to mountain bike.”

She shrugs, already squirming at the way Shelby’s about to tell her how she spent two months at a thousand-dollar-per-night spa in the Caribbean, but Shelby doesn’t. She just smiles faintly. “That sounds nice.”

“It is,” Toni says, pleased. “Nothing fancy, but it’s good enough for me.” She hesitates, but says, “I was in the foster system until I was ten, so anything is kind of an upgrade from that.”

“Fancy is overrated,” Shelby says airily. “I’d take hanging out all day reading and baking and doing nothing rather than a schedule of rehearsed social events.” She frowns at that. “I don’t think I even know what it’s _like_ to do nothing, even if I could.”

And really, there’s no logical explanation for what Toni says next, but she finds herself saying, “Well, I’d be happy to show you sometime.”

She’s already half-ready to take it back. She’s practically itching to. But then Shelby smiles, a hesitant one flushed with something akin to embarrassment, and the glimmer in her eyes shines more hopeful than curious.

**_Now.  
_** The Goodkind house is a silent one. Not quiet, silent. It’s a distinction that Shelby never really understood until she started spending considerable time at other people’s.

Other houses would be filled with the comforting consistency of being lived in. Harmonizing your exhales to the breathing of the other people with you, or unconsciously humming and tapping your feet together to music that would be playing from somewhere. The turn of a book page, the crackle of a fire, the tip tap of feet through hallways, and just a general cushion of noise to fill the emptiness.

The Goodkind house was never like that. Whether it was because they avoided each other at all costs, unless they had to be together for mealtimes, or whether it was because the house was so large you could forget other people were there, Shelby has never been able to be sure.

All she knows is that the silence that filled her childhood pounds into her ears with every sound that isn’t there.

Which is why, when a voice from behind her cuts through the solitude with a, “Hey, Shelbs,” she jumps a lot more than she’d like to admit.

It fades into a chuckle and a shake of her head when she turns. “Spencer. So, you _did_ come back after all,” she teases. “I almost thought you’d changed your mind on me.”

“And miss your homecoming?” Spencer says, as though it’s absurd. He flashes a grin at her, so much like the ones he’d sneak at the dinner table to try and ease the absolute torture that mealtimes were. “What are you up to?”

“Unpacking?” she tries. Spencer raises an eyebrow at the fact that she’s lying on her bed staring at the ceiling, and all her bags are already put away. “Well, alright, fine, I’m deciding whether I want to be here when the parents get home.”

“You’re only here for the weekend,” Spencer says with a chuckle, “I think you’ll make it through.”

“I don’t know about that,” Shelby mumbles into the overpriced, but highly comfortable duvet. “There’s a reason I haven’t been back in six years.”

“Gosh, that’s a long time,” Spencer says, as though he’s only just realized it. “Well, I’ll be staying in to get some work done, but if you want to go out, I won’t tell them I saw you when they get home.”

Shelby brightens, already sitting up and reaching for her purse. “I owe you one.” She heads towards him in the doorway and stills with a hand on his bicep. “It’s good to see you, Spencer. And I’m… I’m sorry I let my distaste for this place get in the way of our relationship.”

Spencer rubs at the back of his neck, already flushing. He was never one for emotions or heart-to-hearts, but when he rolls his eyes and says, “Alright, enough with the sappy shit. Get out of here,” she knows he knows.

It’s an easy decision to take an Uber from Midvale into Tupelo, because the only thing worse than running into her parents would be running into them while she’s walking around the neighborhood.

Sure enough, as the Uber meanders along the windy roads, she sees her parents’ car — notable for the horrible off-beige her mother thinks is classy — driving in the other direction towards the hills. She ducks, but they don’t see her of course, far too wrapped up in themselves.

She gets dropped off at the twenty-four hour donut shop right in the heart of Tupelo.

“Do my eyes deceive me, or is that the famous Shelby Goodkind?” a voice calls out from behind the register.

“Announce it to the whole world, why don’t ya?” she scoffs, though the smile that creeps onto her lips is impossible to stop. Shelby steps up to the counter, and tries not to let herself squirm at the feeling of all the patrons watching her. “Hey, Leah. Parents finally got you?”

“Not yet,” Leah says, clicking her tongs together. “Still just helping out for the holidays, but they’re hopeful I’ll take over the shop anyway.”

“It’s good to see you,” Shelby offers, eyes tracking over the display case of donuts that, much like the rest of the town, hasn’t changed at all.

Leah laughs, and it’s amused and incredulous as she says, “Right, which is why you told me you’d be back?”

“If it makes you feel better, I didn’t tell _anyone_ ,” Shelby says, which is true. “I wasn’t even sure I’d come.”

“Why did you?” Leah asks, already bagging up a half dozen of Shelby’s favorites without her even asking.

The answer stutters across the tip of Shelby’s tongue because really, she doesn’t know why. Or, maybe she does, she just doesn’t want to admit it to herself. Eventually, she settles for a cheeky smile and says, “Six years was much too long to go without seeing your lovely self in person.”

Leah makes a face at that, and then, though her back is turned to tape the box shut, Shelby knows she’s got one eyebrow raised. “Six years is a long time.”

“Feels like it was yesterday, though,” Shelby muses. She gazes around the shop as Leah rings her up, the decorations and furniture exactly the same, although at this time it’s been all decked out for the holidays. “Tupelo doesn’t change at all, does it?”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing, though,” Leah supposes. She tilts her head, as though challenging Shelby, and it’s then that she realizes how comfortable she is. Chatting with Leah, maneuvering around the store and city like it’s the back of her hand, even though she hasn’t been here in six years.

She gives a tentative smile. “Maybe.” She signs the receipt with a 200% tip, and in the corner, scribbles her new number. Leah frowns disapprovingly at the tip, but Shelby just backs away and says, “Consider it payback for all the free donuts I’ve gotten over the years.”

A roll of her eyes, but a smile follows, and the grin grows when Leah spies the number in the corner. “Don’t be a stranger,” Leah says.

With a wave and a promise, Shelby tucks the box of donuts under her arm, and braves the streets again. She spent so many hours as a teenager wandering around from downtown to downtown with friends, but now she’s alone, and she doesn’t know where to go.

She lets her feet carry her past the library, though she’s tempted to go inside, and into the residential backstreets. As Shelby takes a right after continuing straight for two blocks, she sighs as she realizes where she’s taking herself, though she can’t bring herself to stop it.

She slows when she sees the bright red front door grow larger and larger. As she drinks in the way the porch swing is still waving lazily in the breeze, and the same cars are lined up in front of the house, Shelby has the uncontrollable realization that the immediate feeling of contentment and safety that has washed over her is how you’re _supposed_ to feel when you come home for the holidays.

And, of course, it’s at that very moment the door swings open. Shelby knows it’s too late to run, and instead lets the easy smile she’d know anywhere fade into an almost comical look of shock when brown eyes meet hers.

Six years.

It’s been six years since Shelby saw those brown eyes in person. They’re still unfairly bright, and they still make her heart race, but there’s a tired sort of weariness to them now, and the crease in the eyebrows above is deeper as well.

A once over at Toni’s clothing reveals that she’s kind of… dapper? In khaki-colored fitted-slacks secured with a belt, and a maroon button down with the sleeves rolled up, that’s the only word that comes to mind. Gone are the days of basketball shorts and muscle tees or jeans paired with that one jacket, apparently.

Shelby’s thought about seeing Toni again no less than once a day, but now that she’s actually here, she can’t do much more than lift an arm up to wave hesitantly. Her throat is embarrassingly scruffy when she says dumbly, “I came back for Christmas.”

“I see that.” Toni’s voice is mild and controlled, if deeper than it used to be. Even still, Shelby can see clear as day the way her jaw clenches, and the way her fingers have balled into fists where they’re shoved into her pockets. But besides that, and maybe for the first time ever, Shelby has no idea what Toni’s thinking. Right as she’s wonder if she might yell at her, Toni says, “So, would you want to come in?”

**_Then — age 13.  
_** “Do you wanna come over?”

The truth is, Toni had been wanting to ask Shelby that for some time, but held back because of something she couldn’t quite put into words. Eventually, Bernice had made the decision for her, and told her to ask Shelby to dinner because, “You’ve been friends for over a month, it’s about time we met the girl.”

So, she did.

“To yours?” Shelby had asked.

Toni shuffled around in place, her excited energy turning to nerves as she became suddenly self-conscious about the fact that all of Shelby’s friends were watching her. “Yeah. For dinner? Tonight.”

Shelby fiddled with her locker lock and then said, “Okay.”

Which is how she finds herself walking up the front porch steps with Martha in front of her, and Shelby in tow. The house itself is small, cozy, and though Toni always found it her safe place, the reality of Shelby freakin’ Goodkind here is too much.

The cars parked out in front bring nothing but memories of road trips and car rides listening to music with Martha, and all the places they’ve been, or will be, but now she’s wondering whether the fact that both vehicles are from ten years ago is embarrassing. The porch swing is her favorite place to read, or look at the stars, or sit with Martha’s dad over a cup of hot chocolate and a conversation, but now it looks old and rickety and a stain on the front of the house.

She follows Martha inside, not missing the way Shelby immediately slides her shoes off, and bites back a grimace when she sees Martha’s dad whistling at the stove and donning his ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron, which Toni distinctly remembers telling him _not_ to wear.

He turns, grinning like he does every day. “Good afternoon, girls. You must be Shelby.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Shelby says, holding out a hand. Russel’s eyes shoot up in what could be amusement, but when he sees Shelby’s serious, he reaches out to meet her halfway. “Thank you for having me over.”

“Oh, the more the merrier,” he says, waving her off. “Half-Pint, don’t forget to put your lunch containers in the sink. We don’t want a fourth grade situation again, do we?” he says, wagging a finger at her.

Toni rolls her eyes, as Shelby whispers, “What happened in fourth grade?”

“Well,” Martha says, unpacking her own backpack, “in fourth grade, Toni left a container of food in her backpack for so long that by the time we found it we couldn’t even open it because it was so moldy.”

Shelby wrinkles her nose, and Toni sticks out her tongue. “Yeah, yeah, it’s the funniest thing ever.”

“Positives time!” Russel announces, which Toni recalls also telling him _not_ to do.

“I got paired with someone cool for my history project,” Martha says, draping her backpack over the back of a chair at the kitchen table. “I’m actually kind of excited about the whole thing.”

“Not as excited as I am to hear more about it!” Russel says brightly. He speaks in a way that might be condescending or sarcastic if he wasn’t so damn genuine about it. He pauses his stirring of the sauce on the stove. “Half-Pint?”

“Shelby’s here for dinner?” Toni offers, trying not to blush, “If that counts?”

“That most certainly does,” he answers. He wipes his hands on a towel, and gestures to the kitchen table. “Well, sit, I’ll have your snack out in a minute. Shelby, would you like to have a turn?”

“Um?” Shelby looks at Toni with wide-eyes that couldn’t scream ‘Help!’ any louder than if she were waving an S.O.S. sign.

Toni thinks this might be the biggest display of self-control she’s ever had to do. Sitting, she fights back the growing prickle of embarrassment that they _still_ do this tradition, that she’s in eighth grade, but still has an afternoon snack made for her every day, that Russel calls her ‘Half-Pint,’ _and_ that he not only owns, but actually _wears_ a ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron.

“Positives are something we do every school afternoon,” Toni explains. “You have to say something good or happy or positive about your day, and it can’t be related to grades.”

“Oh,” Shelby says, surprise written all over her face. “Well, that’s nice. In my house, I’m usually supposed to take the time to talk about my faults, and then my parents have a turn to tell me what they think I could improve on.”

There’s a beat of silence as Toni realizes that might be the saddest thing she’s ever heard, and then Russel is setting down a plate of cheese and crackers and apple slices. He smiles warmly, though there’s a troubled crease in his eyebrow like he gets whenever he’s feeling bad for someone.

“In _this_ house, we think that the best way to improve our faults is to celebrate our successes,” he says easily. “Is there anything about today that was good?”

Shelby thinks on this as Toni fights Martha silently for the last piece of cheddar. “Well, I get to have dinner here,” she says, and there’s an embarrassed little smile when she says, “I think that might be the best thing to happen to me all week.”

“You’re welcome any time,” Russel assures Shelby, and then starts picking a faux argument with Martha about her crush on some guy in her math class called Marcus, and Shelby watches them with that same longing expression she’s had on the entire time she’s been here.

And as Toni looks around at everything she thinks she’s supposed to be ashamed of, she realizes they might be the very same reasons why she’s lucky.

Eventually, the conversation dies down, and Shelby asks, “Can I help with dinner?”

Yet again, her dad looks increasingly surprised, and shakes his head immediately. “Absolutely not, you’re a guest. In fact, all three of you get out of here and leave me to finish cooking. Ready as soon as your mother gets home, okay?”

“I’m gonna take a nap,” Martha yawns, slinging her backpack over her shoulder and departing towards the stairwell just outside the kitchen.

“Come on, we can watch TV or something,” Toni decides, waving Shelby towards the living room towards the front of the house. “Bernice is a nurse, but she should be home soon,” she explains.

She’s only just finished launching herself over the back of the couch and onto the right-most side when she realizes Shelby is sitting with her back straight, perched on the edge of one of the couch cushions. Toni pokes her with a toe.

“What?” Shelby asks.

“You can relax, you know,” Toni teases. Shelby struggles with this for a second, like she doesn’t even know what that is, and then slumps back against the cushions. Satisfied, Toni nods and flips on the TV. “So, what do you like to watch?”

**_Now.  
_** The house is much the same, although Shelby can already tell the things of their childhood have long since been put away.

The pictures on the walls have been updated, the kitchen table has been swapped for one that’s slightly smaller, the pile of shoes in the entry way has been condensed to a small shoe rack, and the furniture has all been rearranged.

It’s almost a relief to find that the couch is the same, though, somehow still looking as new and inviting as it did eleven years prior. Toni gestures wordlessly for her to it down, so she does, instantly sinking back against the cushions that hold more memories than she’d know what to do with.

In fact, sitting there with her eyes closed, she allows the weight of the past years to wash off of her. For a moment, she’s a teenager again, hanging out in the living room and waiting for dinner to be done.

Martha is upstairs, doing homework or choreographing for the dance team. Russel is in the kitchen cooking up one of Shelby's favorites, maybe pasta because her father always said he didn’t like Shelby having so many carbs. Bernice will be home soon, and will greet them all with a hug and a kiss on the forehead.

As for Toni, well…

Toni will be sitting on the couch with her, legs intertwined. Maybe they’ll be doing homework, though if there’s a show playing on the TV, Toni will make comments so often it’ll be impossible to actually get anything done.

Shelby can still smell the scent of the perfume Toni always wore in high school even though she vehemently denied any such thing. She can hear Russel humming to a Taylor Swift song on the radio. She can make out the gentle murmur of Martha verbally going through her studying flashcards through the cracked door of her bedroom. She can see the familiar bump of headlights as Bernice rolls up the driveway.

And she can feel it all.

She can feel the weight of Toni on the other side of the couch. She can feel the warmth that forced its way through the kind, but plastic and undeniably fake Goodkind exterior she wore until that fateful day Toni asked her to come over.

Most of all she can feel the way, in the back of her mind, it’s just a daydream.

Shelby opens her eyes.

Toni has reappeared with two mugs, and yet another unreadable expression. It’s jarring to not be able to understand her as easily as she understands herself anymore — and Hell, if Shelby’s being honest, she was always better at deciphering Toni’s emotions better than Toni was at her own, and vice versa. That’s why they worked together.

Eventually, she has enough of guessing, and with a wry smile, tries for the only thing she can think to say. “Twenty for your thoughts?”

Toni looks highly unimpressed. “I’d charge you a lot more than that if I could,” she says, but comes and sits on the couch next to her.

Shelby almost wishes she wouldn’t because the way they stiffly sit as far apart from each other as possible is such a cold contrast to the memories in which they tumbled onto the cushions and cuddled so closely they were practically on top of each other.

She clears her throat. “So, anyway, as you can probably tell, I’m here for Christmas.”

“For how long?” Toni asks, tone softening.

Shelby winces. “Um, the weekend.”

“Right.” And just like that, with a clench of her jaw, Toni’s back to being mad at her.

“Are you visiting for the holidays?” Shelby asks, gesturing to the mini Christmas tree on the fireplace mantle. “Or do you live here? I — well, I don’t know, obviously.”

“I moved to the city, actually,” Toni says. “Got an apartment in the Sunset District, just like —“ she cuts herself off abruptly, but Shelby’s brain can’t help but finish the sentence: _Like we always talked about doing_. “But a couple years ago, I moved back in here to help my mom out while she goes through treatment.”

“For what?” Shelby sits up at that, eyebrows furrowed.

Toni purses her lips in the way she always did when she was ‘disappointed’ with Shelby over something, but never angry. “Cancer, Shelby. She has stage three ovarian cancer.”

Shelby shakes her head, holding up a hand, then dropping it, then lifting it again. A small part of her heart soars at how it feels for her name to come rolling off of Toni’s tongue, but the other part is just devastated. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

And then Toni honest-to-God laughs. It’s a bitter, heavy chuckle. “How, Shelby? With the phone number you never gave me? The email you don’t check? How would I have told you?”

Well. It’s a pretty solid argument.

“Fair enough,” Shelby mumbles. She hesitates, nervously playing with the hem of her sleeve. “Is she… I mean, what’s the prognosis?”

Toni deflates back into the sofa. “Decent. She’ll live, probably. The rest is unknown.”

Shelby nods, staring at the floor, trying not to let the tears that push against the back of her eyes win. “I’m sorry,” she says, because really, Bernice was more of a mother to her than Jill ever was, and she didn’t even _know_ about this whole thing.

Toni sighs, and when Shelby looks up, her frown has relaxed into pure exhaustion. “Why did you come back here?”

“I don’t know,” she says, as honestly as she can, even though she definitely does.

“Twenty for your thoughts?” Toni asks, the hint of a smile coming through the crinkle of her eyes.

If Shelby messes with the hem of her shirt sleeve any more, it’ll start to totally come apart, so she forces her fingers to still, and fights through her endless anxiety to say, “I missed you.”

The set of Toni’s jaw doesn’t hide the thick swallow, and her voice is gruff when she says, “That’s not good enough.” She blinks furiously, tremble in her upper lip back with a vengeance. “You don’t get to just come back to me — to _here_ , after six years, and just tell me you miss me.”

“It’s the truth, though,” Shelby says, shrugging helplessly. “I really loved you, Toni. More than I probably should have, if we’re being honest.”

“You know I loved you, too,” Toni says, and it’s funny how that simple sentence sends Shelby’s heart straight to the pit of her stomach because this _— this_ is what she left behind. Fear, love, pain, and a lifetime of laughter and frustration, all wrapped up in one person.

_I loved you, too_.

“And now?” Shelby asks, already scared about what the answer’s going to be.

“If we’re being honest,” Toni says, and it's almost mocking as she takes a deep breath, “I really don’t even know who you are anymore.”

**_Then — age 14.  
_** “Who are we?” Toni sighs.

The question floats between them like it’s not sure who’s going to answer it. Eventually, Shelby laughs. “What?”

“Why are we here? What is the meaning of our existence? Who _are_ we?” Toni says, flopping dramatically back flat on the soccer field. Shelby’s head falls next to her, and she resists the urge to look over and see the way her eyes will definitely be that much brighter next to the grass.

“You’re getting all existential on me,” Shelby teases, folding up her blazer and sliding it under her head as a pillow. “I’m intrigued, though. Keep going”

“Martha got me on this last night,” Toni says sourly. Shelby just lets her smile grow for a half-second, and Toni continues, “Like, what are we going to do with our lives? And does it really even matter?”

Shelby is just quiet, head turned up at the sky, facial expression as curated as it always is. No, _usually_ is. Not with Toni, though. Not anymore. And despite the mask that she’s able to slip on and off, Toni has gotten good at spotting the cracks. The wander of her eyes, the slight crease in her left eyebrow, the way the pattern of her breathing changes.

Still, knowing that Shelby’s upset doesn’t really tell her anything about _why_ she is.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Toni asks, poking her in the shoulder gently.

That draws out a small smile, but it fades into thoughtfulness. “I always thought that was a strange expression,” she says. “I would buy your thoughts for a lot more than a penny.”

Toni considers this and then decides, “Me, too. I’d buy your thoughts for, like…” she trails off, frowning. “What’s a lot of money?”

“Twenty bucks?” Shelby guesses.

“Twenty bucks,” Toni agrees. “I’d buy your thoughts for twenty bucks.” She throws Shelby a grin, and then prompts again, “So, twenty for your thoughts?”

This quiets Shelby again, but her mask is slipping, and she rolls over so she’s facing Toni on her side. “I never have had the same type of wonder about my future.” She shrugs. “It’s always been planned out for me. I’m going to break myself getting into an Ivy League, marry some dude who majors in business and wears too much hair gel, and then I’ll take over as low-down Head of some department at my parents’ business, and then I’ll die.”

“That’s decided already?” Toni asks, knowing her expression is probably somewhere between scandalized and outraged.

The smile Shelby gives her is almost pitying. “Yep. Well, Spencer will take it over. Hopefully he hires me when my parents retire.”

“Well, you don’t _have_ to, right?” Toni asks, spinning a blade of grass between her fingers. She pulls up a couple more especially long strands, and starts braiding them around Shelby’s index finger absentmindedly. “Couldn’t you just… not?”

“Toni, I’m fourteen, and this has been planned for me for _sixteen_ years,” Shelby says, waiting for her to catch up and do the math. “These things aren’t for me to decide. It’s just how they are.”

“I think you can be anything you want,” Toni says stubbornly. She releases her hold on the grass and watches as the braid unravels.

“Maybe,” Shelby says, like she doesn’t agree. “If I wanted to, I’d have to go somewhere else, probably.”

“You’d really move away?” Toni asks, frowning. She props herself up on her elbow to match Shelby’s pose, who shrugs.

“Everyone moves away after high school eventually,” Shelby says, matter-of-factly. She smiles, the kind of warm, easy, close-lipped way that always manages to comfort Toni. “Tell you what — I promise to take you with me.”

Toni smiles back. “Deal.”

**_Now.  
_** It’s silent. Just like the Goodkind house. For the first time ever, the Blackburn’ household is silent.

Toni sits on the other end of the couch as they stare into space, at each other, down at their mugs that have long since grown cold. They just sit, and think, and Shelby hopes that the memories she’s sure are resurfacing for Toni are at least half as happy as the ones that have been playing non-stop in her own mind.

It’s Toni who breaks the silence, prefaced by a small cough. “I just don’t understand why you just… left. The Shelby I knew would never have done that.” She swallows. “I mean, did you even spare me a thought now and then?”

She almost looks ashamed to be asking, but Shelby sighs, “Of course I did. Maybe it’s cheesy, but every day. I don’t even know _why_ I didn’t keep in touch, but —“

“— when you’re hanging out with, like, Karlie Kloss, some Kardashian —“ Toni starts, but Shelby immediately shakes her head.

“They’re not my _friends_ , Toni,” she says. She wonders how much of her online persona people actually believe, and can’t help but note that Toni has checked up on her enough to know who she’s hanging out with. “Kendall, Karlie… they’re all just tricks of the trade.”

“Then, honestly, I don’t understand what happened,” Toni says, shrugging. “I have always wished the best for you, Shelby, and I still do. And I’m — I’m proud of you. But…” she trails off, looking around like she’s searching for an answer. “But we can’t just pretend like the last six years didn’t happen. I’m not eighteen anymore.”

“I’m not asking for that,” Shelby says, resisting the urge to do something stupid like initiate a full on heart-to-heart. Deciding that the least she owes Toni is honesty, she sits back against the couch, rubbing at her temples. “I just want, I don’t know, closure?”

“So you came back to tie up loose ends, and then leave again?” Toni scoffs. “That’s not better, Shelby.”

“Hang on,” Shelby says, shaking her head. “You’re not happy to see me, but are mad at me for _not_ wanting to stay?”

“No, I just —“ Toni cuts herself off with a low, frustrated huff. “I’m not here for you to use to make yourself feel better or something, okay? If you want to talk, we’ll talk, but it can’t be just you clearing your conscience.”

“It’s not,” Shelby says. The air is thick as they level-up on each other, and Shelby wonders when it became that they could stare into each other’s eyes, and see absolutely nothing. She breaks away, turning her eyes towards the window. “I didn’t mean to cut you off or whatever. Really, I didn’t. It was just a lot of things. Who I am, who they told me to be.”

“Sounds like you’re saying it was your fault,” Toni says. Shelby gapes at her, but then swimming at the corners of Toni’s eyes is a twinkling of a smile.

“Yeah, it was my fault,” she says, exhaling and rolling her eyes. “Look, I’d never done long-distance anything before. And, it was 2008. Social media wasn’t what it is now, and I just didn’t try hard enough, and then it felt like it was too late.”

“Too late for what?” Toni asks, eyebrows furrowed not in hurt, but like she knows something Shelby doesn’t.

“They said it’s hard to keep friends from your past, and I believed them,” she continues, pretending as though she hasn’t even heard her.

The sigh that Toni lets out is so deep and exasperated it’s a miracle it doesn’t physically shake the couch. “I wasn’t some classmate from junior year English, Shelby. We were _best_ friends. Russell and Bernice considered you their _daughter_.”

As if Shelby doesn’t live with that guilt every day.

She doesn’t comment on the fact that her publicist told her she would never act in another film that wasn’t a statement piece if she came out as gay. She doesn’t mention that upon hearing about Toni, her publicist immediately clocked in on the fact that there was _something_ between them.

She certainly doesn’t say that she was afraid if she kept in contact she would eventually get over her fears and want more, and she doesn’t admit that the “more” scared her more than it hurt to not have Toni at all.

Eventually, she looks up, holding Toni’s eyes with her own, and as carefully as she can, she pushes past the tremor in her throat to say, “I loved you, Toni.”

The confession, but also not quite, hangs in the air. They sit on it for a moment, and Shelby wonders if now would be a bad time to confess that she secretly spent the _entirety_ of their five year friendship in love with Toni. And if she’s being honest, she’s spent the last six years in love with her, too.

Eventually, Toni sighs, admitting, “I could have reached out.”

“So, then it’s _your_ fault?” Shelby says, fighting off a smile. It fades, though, because as much as it’s alarming how easily they slip in and out of being mad at each other, she knows they’re both harboring years of hurt. “How do I make this up to you?”

“How long are you here for?” Toni asks.

She nibbles at her lower lip. “I leave the day after Christmas. So, Monday morning.”

“It’s Friday,” Toni deadpans.

“I know,” Shelby says. She intends to give Toni that comforting smile she always was so good at, but it comes out a bit lopsided. “You didn’t think I’d willingly stay at my parents’ house any longer than necessary, did you?”

The automatic look of disgruntled distaste is comical. “Oh. Well, no, I guess not.”

And then it’s quiet again, and Shelby can tell they’re both trying not to say everything they want to, and it’s so blatantly obvious that they’re holding back confessions that could solve the whole thing in ten minutes, but she just can’t bring herself to do it.

“I’m here for the weekend, though,” she adds, hoping Toni gets the hint.

She must, because she says, “Why don’t we spend the day together tomorrow? Bernice is in the hospital until Sunday, so I'll be completely available.”

“Okay,” Shelby agrees, wondering what the fuck she got herself into. “Tomorrow.”

**_Then — age 13.  
_** Only after she’s said the words, “Do you want to sleep over?” does it occur to Toni that over the course of the past six months of friendship, she’s actually never seen or heard Shelby sleep over at anybody’s house before.

Toni’s suspicions are confirmed when Shelby sighs. “I don’t think my parents would allow it. They’re weird about that kind of stuff.”

“It’s Friday, though,” Toni says, flipping her book over on her bed. She gestures to the eery sort of blackness outside the window, and rises to close the curtains. “And it’s already dark. Maybe my parents can ask.” She pauses. “Only if you want to.”

“I do,” Shelby says, nodding a little more enthusiastically. “Yeah, maybe your parent’s can ask.”

Toni makes sure to add an extra ‘please’ into her request, and whether it’s that, the fact that Bernice is the most persuasive woman in the world, or just a good old-fashioned miracle, the Goodkinds say it’s okay. Before she can overthink it, she finds herself tucked into bed besides Shelby in her little twin sized mattress.

Her nightlight is on in the corner, because, “Yeah, I don’t like ghosts, Shelby,” they pulled an extra pillow out of the closet in the hallway, and when she turns over on her side to face Shelby, she finds her friend’s eyes are already watching her curiously.

She swallows, looking down from Shelby’s gaze because even in the darkness, those eyes make her heart stutter for no apparent reason. But then that’s worse, because now she’s looking at Shelby’s lips, all soft and pink and curiously parted as she breathes in and out.

They’re only a foot away. Toni could easily lean forward and kiss her. Not that she would, of course. Just, hypothetically.

She wonders if the kiss would be wet and gross, like that time in sixth grade she let some boy kiss her behind the cafeteria. Or, maybe it’ll be soft and warm and comforting, like the kisses she saw her parents share, and the ones that pass between Bernice and Russell. Or, will it be exciting and dizzying, the way Martha says her first kiss with Marcus was like?

No, not ‘will,’ ‘would.’ It’s all hypothetical.

She wonders if Shelby’s as off the rails as she is about the whole thing, but Shelby has perfected the Goodkind mask down to the blink of her eyes, and when she whispers, “Goodnight, Toni,” and turns to lie flat on her back, she still has no clue.

She turns over herself, staring up at the ceiling, fighting the urge to move or twitch or draw attention to herself, but then she feels the rustle of her sheets, and then the tip of a finger brushing ever so slightly against hers.

Eyes fixed at the ceiling, breaths shallow and heart racing, her fingers lace with Shelby’s, and the steady weight around her hand rocks her to sleep.

**_Now.  
_** She’s honestly so numb for the rest of her first day back that she doesn’t even roll her eyes more than twice when she has dinner with her family the same evening.

Not even her mother’s snide remarks about how she didn’t win that Emmy manage to land, nor does her father backhandedly saying that Shelby is technically almost as good as the actress who beat her out for a role the month before.

Spencer looks at her after every comment like he’s almost concerned about why she’s not fighting back, but she doesn’t even stick around after dinner to play Mario Kart with him and talk about it like she usually does when they’ve seen each other in the past.

The confusion and emotion and inner turmoil she can distinctly remember compartmentalizing for the past six years has sent her mind into a cyclical loop of replaying every conversation over and over again. To cope, she decides to go to sleep early, something that is probably much less healthy than processing her feelings.

Not to mention, she almost forgets how hard it is to sleep at home. The blankets are heavy around her midsection as she lies there, eyes tracing around and around the ceiling fan. Not even the thousand dollar mattress under her can ease her endless anxieties.

She’s spending the whole day with Toni tomorrow. This is a fact she’s not sure how to feel about. Toni made them plan out what time she was going to drive over to the Goodkind residence and everything, and Shelby is honestly worried she might pass away from stress before that happens.

Tucked into bed and wide awake, she can’t stop herself from recalling how easy it was to fall asleep at the Blackburn’ house. She can still imagine the comforting weight of Toni’s hand, because they always would do that under the blankets.

Honestly, Shelby’s almost mad at her teenage self for being such a little bitch about the whole thing, because she hooked up with someone in the bathroom of a dive bar in the middle of Pride, and holding hands at every sleepover is still maybe the gayest thing she’s ever done.

The ease of sleeping wasn’t just because of Toni, though, but the rest of it, too. The soft light filtering in from the hall under the crack separating the floor from the bedroom door, the footsteps and creaking of the floorboards under Bernice and Russel’s feet as they padded around late at night, the hum of chatter from Martha’s bedroom.

This house is cold. This house is silent. This house is everything that told Shelby she had to get out before it swallowed her whole. But for the millionth time, she’s wondering if that was the right decision.

**_Then — age 17.  
_** The drive to Shelby’s house has always been somewhat of an intrigue for Toni. She knows the area, of course, seeing as she attends the private school in Woodstock, but the layout and the houses are so much different from Tupelo.

As in, the people here are insanely rich.

Shelby’s house is no exception. It’s nestled at the end of a long driveway, with space for sixteen cars to park around the house, as well as what looks like an entire forest in the background. The house is a sort of a beach-ish look, what with the white walls and blue accents, but there’s the modernization of technology and landscaping out front.

Driving up in her brand new-to-her truck, but still used, she feels predictably out of place amongst the driveways and garages full of Teslas and Range Rovers. She’s rewarded for her endeavors with Shelby already waiting at her mailbox when Toni pulls up, and she hops into the passenger side with a grin. “I love it.”

“You like the color?” Toni asks, feeling entirely too pleased with herself. She pats the steering wheel affectionately.

The nod that ensues is vigorous as Shelby clicks in her seatbelt. “Dark green, very you.” She looks around at the entire and nods again. “So, where to?”

Toni fiddles with the steering wheel a bit, and then says, “Marlena’s?” hoping Shelby doesn’t pick up on the fact that she chose it because it’s in the, an hour away, and will therefore require more time spent together in the car.

If she does, she just smiles and says, “Perfect, we can make a day of it.”

They’re twenty minutes into the drive when Toni realizes now is probably the perfect time to say what she’s been wondering about for three years now. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever get the chance to have the time and privacy just right, but she also doesn’t want to ruin the day with her anxieties.

“I can hear you thinking,” Shelby says, raising an eyebrow. “Talk to me.”

_So much for not ruining the day_ , she thinks.

The swipe of her hand across the top of her head to smooth back any flyaways is her go-to stalling move, which Shelby definitely knows, but she’s patient as Toni manages to squeeze out, “Shelby, are you happy here?”

The furrow that creases her eyebrows is almost scared. “What?”

“Here,” Toni repeats, using the freeway onramp as an excuse not to look at the passenger side. “Are you happy in Tupelo?”

“I don’t live in Tupelo, Toni,” Shelby says, still frowning.

“You _could_ ,” Toni says, shrugging.

The shake of her head is slight, but the raise of her hand is almost aggressive when she says, “What are you asking me?”

Toni sighs. “A few years ago, we were talking about what we were going to do with our lives. Do you remember that?” Shelby nods wordlessly. “And you said that to escape your family’s plan for you, you’d have to leave.”

“I did say that,” Shelby says slowly.

“Well?” Toni says. She finally looks over, and her breath catches at the way Shelby almost looks pained. Her tone softens as she adds, “We haven’t talked about what our plan after graduation is that much. I just want to know what’s going on with you.”

Shelby nods, opening her mouth like she might actually reply, but Toni’s heart sinks when she says, “We have six more months. Let’s just enjoy that, and cross other bridges when we get there, okay?”

It’s such a non-answer, and they both know it, and somehow that’s worse than if Shelby were to just say it outright.

But they have a full day ahead of them, and Shelby’s eyes are practically begging her not to push the subject, so with a sigh and a half-smile to match the half-answer, she says, “Okay.”

**_Now.  
_** Seeing Toni’s truck drive up to the Goodkind house again only brings one feeling to the surface: _that’s weird_. It’s not the most eloquent thing Shelby has ever thought, but there’s really nothing else to describe it.

Even when they were teenagers, the used car was so out of place. The rich green color itself was an immediate giveaway compared to the sleek black or sterile white of pretty much every other car, but it also stuck out just because it was always dirty.

At the time it was frustrating, because Toni always complained about the dirt, and Shelby always told her to wash her car, and she never did. But for some reason, the muddy tires that roll up now are comforting, especially when she looks up to see Toni’s earnest face peeking over from above the dashboard.

Shelby slides into the passenger seat, trying not to shiver at the stark wave of deja vu that comes over her. “Still haven’t learned to wash the truck, huh?”

“Nope,” Toni grins. She points rather aggressively over Shelby’s shoulder. “Buckle up, ‘cause I’ve got lots planned for us today.”

As it turns out, ‘lots planned’ really means ‘nothing, we’re winging it,’ but it starts with donuts, so Shelby can’t complain too much.

If Leah wants to combust on the spot seeing the two of them walk in together, which Shelby knows she does, she displays impressive self-restraint and just gives Shelby an extremely heavy stare before turning to fill their order.

It should feel off just hanging out with Toni again, in the city they spent so many days together in, no less than six years without seeing either in person, but it’s not. They slip back into their old ways so easily it almost makes Shelby anxious because there must be something wrong for it to be going this right.

Of course, there are the differences that come with age and experience and all the things that both of them went through individually. For one thing, Toni asks her why she’s not getting recognized beyond a couple stares here and there, to which Shelby answers, “I only have a million Instagram followers, Toni,” to which Toni says, “Only? Your world is weird.”

Toni is also a considerably worse driver, something that pleases Shelby to no end. Having spent the entirety of their last couple years in high school being bullied by her for _her_ admittedly subpar driving skills, it’s nice to see Toni join her on the dark side.

This delight is rescinded upon realizing Toni is now completely unhinged and drives close to one-hundred miles an hour on the freeway, barely stops at _all_ for stop signs, and has a method of changing lanes that goes something like, “Speed up, signal, and hope for the best.”

As they hit the open roads, Shelby's anxiety decreases exponentially, and she's halfway aware there's a smile on her lips when she sighs quietly.

“You’re happy here,” Toni says. It’s a statement, not a question, but it’s hesitant, like she’s worried she might spook her into running again.

Shelby leans back into the seat, and then says carefully, “Visiting isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

**_Then — age 16.  
_** It’s still strange for the bell to ring signaling the end of class, and for Toni to immediately know where to go, and who to sit with. In middle school and before, Toni never really had a group of her own. Everyone liked — or tolerated — her, but she floated between them.

To go from that to somehow having an in with the most popular girl at school was a shock for sure, but it’s been two and some years now, and she’s starting to get used to it.

“Shalifoe!” Becca calls out from the table out in the courtyard they’ve claimed. “Hurry your ass up, we’re making plans.”

“For what?” Toni asks, setting her bag down at her feet and sliding onto the bench next to Shelby.

Nora makes a face. “Prom.”

“You’re not excited?” Fatin says, scanning the yard quickly. “Weren’t you going to ask Quinn? What happened to that?”

“Please, God, do not let Nora ask Quinn to prom,” Rachel begs, hands towards the sky.

“I think he’s nice,” Martha says, shrugging. She looks at Shelby, who shrugs too.

“You think _everyone_ is nice,” Rachel says. “I’m pretty sure Quinn still uses his accordion to sing answers in class.”

“He’s creative,” Nora pouts.

“He’s sixteen,” Rachel deadpans.

“Alright,” Becca says, smacking Rachel in the face with a celery stick. “Can we get to planning now?”

“So, we’re thinking of meeting at mine before, and then driving over together,” Leah says, looking mostly at Toni. “Shelby has the best space to host, but also the worst parents.”

“Honestly, they might let me host because they’re so set on me _going_ to prom,” Shelby says, shrugging. “As long as you’re all aware they’re terrible and will judge each of you for things that are entirely out of your control, I can ask.”

“Why do they want you to go to prom so bad?” Leah asks. It should be a simple question, but Shelby blinks at her a couple times, and then looks across the quad at Andrew, and then looks at Toni, and then looks back at Leah.

Rachel seems to pick up on… something, so she quickly says, “Alright, and Nora and I will ask our parents if we can be the back-up. Besides, your house is creepy at night.”

Not that Toni would know, because she still hasn’t slept over there.

If she’s recalling correctly, she can’t count more than five times she’s even _been_ there. Despite the fact that Shelby is over at _her_ house pretty much every day, and sleeps over minimum every Friday, the Goodkind house is a large, cold, untouchable idea she has yet to figure out.

She’d asked Shelby about it before, but with that placating smile she’s so good at, all she’d said was, “Trust me, you don’t want to hang out here.”

Dot pipes up, snapping Toni out of her thoughts. “Fatin, who are you asking to prom?”

“I don’t know yet,” she says, looking directly at Leah. 

“I think Rogan What’s-His-Name was talking about asking Toni,” Leah says, snatching a handful of Dot’s chips.

“Why?” Toni can’t help but say. All eyes turn to her. Backtracking, she adds, “I mean, we’ve never really talked or anything.”

“Yeah, and the first step to talking to someone is asking them out,” Leah says, like it’s obvious, which it might be. “If you don’t want him to, tell me so I can pass along the message.”

“I don’t want him to?” Toni says, wondering why this is so uncomfortable.

“You don’t have to go with anyone you don’t want to,” Shelby says with a reassuring smile. She offers the same smile to the rest of the table. “I think it would be nice for us to all go as friends, you know?” Maybe Toni’s seeing things, but she swears Shelby’s gaze lingers on Andrew for a little too long when she adds, “No dates.”

And so it’s decided that they’ll all meet at either Rachel’s or Shelby’s to get ready and take pictures, and then drive over as a group. The bell rings, warning them they have ten minutes to get to class.

Toni, knowing she has Astrophysics across campus, slings her backpack onto her shoulder and waves to the group. “See you guys,” she says, turning to go.

“Wait,” Shelby says, jumping up quickly. “I’ll walk with you.”

Considering Toni also knows Shelby has class in the building right next to the courtyard where they eat lunch, she arches an eyebrow, but allows Shelby to fall into step beside her. Tentatively, she says, “Twenty for your thoughts?”

That always makes Shelby smile, and today is no different. She lowers her voice like it’s a scandalous secret and admits, “I don’t really even want to go to prom, if we’re being real.”

“Then why go?” Toni asks.

Shelby gives her a look, like, _Come on, really?_ and says, “My mother wants me to more than anything.

Toni grins. “All the more reason not to, then, right?”

**_Now.  
_** The sun is starting to drop, edging its way towards golden hour, and Shelby is thoroughly exhausted.

Toni took her around to every one of their old haunts, pointing out all the little details and memories Shelby assumed she was just a sad weirdo for still remembering. And now, it seems, Toni has decided they need to go back to high school.

The campus, which is actually a Kindergarten through twelfth grade, is still as pristine and proper as it was when she graduated, and though Shelby never admitted it to anyone, it was actually a place of a lot of good memories. She looks around slowly as she steps out of the truck.

“Can’t believe this school used to be ours,” she says.

Toni snorts at that, and starts walking into the sidelines towards the football field. “We? No, Shelby, that was all you.”

“Oh, stop,” Shelby says, waving her off. “We had our friend group, it was never just me.”

“It’s always been just you,” Toni says, a little too quickly for comfort. She smiles hesitantly, then immediately spins around and keeps walking so quickly Shelby has to jog to keep up.

Predictably, they find themselves at the bleachers, a space they unofficially claimed after meeting there.They must have racked up hours in this very spot reading books before school, studying in their prep periods, eating lunch when they wanted a break from the big group, or even just hanging out at night for fun.

It kind of feels like a mix of all of those things as they lie there now, the turf rough and vibrant under the fading sunlight.

“You know,” Shelby informs her, “I’m missing my mother’s Christmas Eve party for this.”

“Oh, God,” Toni says, which precedes, “I bet she’s fucking pissed about that.”

“Not as mad as she was about us skipping prom,” Shelby says, still wondering how that memory brings her so much delight still.

They watch the sunset come alive behind the trees. Shelby has to admit the splashes of orange and pink and purple and blue are incomparable to the light-polluted sunsets of L.A., and as the sun sinks down further until the sky blackens and the stars begin to come out, she wonders when the last time she saw them this bright was.

She traces all the constellations she knows with her eyes, mouthing the names under her breath. As she does, she tries not to remember the night Toni had sat behind her and slung her arms around her waist, and then held hands with her for hours as she told her all about them.

They must have been lying there for an hour or more when Toni speaks. “I’ve had a revelation,” she declares.

“Oh?” Shelby asks, amusement clear as she looks over.

Toni’s face is lit up just enough in the moonlight. “I think you need to start doing things for the sake of making _you_ happy, rather than for the sake of getting back at other people.”

“Oh,” is all she can say, because if Shelby wanted a therapy session, she’d have gone to a therapist. “I don’t think I do that. Getting back at people is _your_ thing.”

“Maybe,” Toni allows. “Maybe more outright. You might do it with a smile, but it’s still coming from the same motive.” Shelby’s distaste for this honesty she didn’t ask for must be clear, because Toni actually laughs. “I’m serious. Start living for yourself.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever done that,” she says. As soon as the words have left her mouth, she realizes how utterly sad that is.

“It’s never too late,” Toni shrugs, and Shelby wonders when exactly she started to think that it was.

**_Then — age 15.  
_** “You forgot to close the curtains,” Shelby mumbles, green eyes turning an odd shade of teal under the blue tinged moonlight.

“Whatever,” Toni says, knowing if she were any less tired she would be worrying about murderers and getting up immediately.

It’s almost six in the morning, and Toni doesn’t think she’s ever been awake this long. Growing up with Martha ‘bedtime is eight o’clock’ Blackburn, she hasn’t even been up past midnight before. Needless to say, she’s pretty delirious, and wonders if this is what it’s like to be drunk.

“Not quite,” Shelby says, yawning, “but I have to say it’s a fair comparison.” She throws Toni a lazy smile from where she’s lying on her side about a foot or so away. “I’ll take you to a party one day.”

“Hm,” Toni says, because she doesn’t think she has the brain power or the energy to say much more than that. She throws a Twix vaguely in Shelby’s direction. “I’m sorry about Andrew.”

“Who cares?” Shelby says, in a way that makes Toni think she definitely does. “He was an asshole.”

“You deserve better,” Toni agrees, “someone smart and nice. Like Alex, or Thom.”

Shelby wrinkles her nose at both options, and though Toni fights it, she smiles, because if she’s being honest, she doesn’t like the idea of Shelby dating _anyone_.

“They’re better than Andrew for sure,” Shelby allows, yawning again through every other word.

“I don’t even know why you went out with him,” Toni says, shaking her head. She scoots down from where she’s propped up on an elbow until they’re practically face to face.

“If we were _actually_ drunk, maybe I’d tell you,” Shelby says, a grin sneaking onto her lips that’s equally as mischievous as it is sad. It might be Toni’s imagination, but she swears she sees Shelby’s eyes travel down to her lips, though they’re pretty unfocused and bouncing all around, so it could be a coincidence. “Do _you_ like anybody?”

She intends to lie, but what comes out is, “I don’t know.”

They stare at each other, and it would be funny if it wasn’t such a tense moment, because all of a sudden Toni is wide-awake. _Does Shelby know?_ she wonders. _What is there even_ to _know? Does she care?_

And then, and this is the part where Toni thinks she might actually be dreaming, they’re kissing. Whether it’s Shelby who leans in first, or Toni who chases an unspoken offer, they’re kissing. Shelby’s lips are soft and warm, lazy from sleep, and gentle as they encourage the kiss further.

It’s innocent enough, all things considered, mouths barely parting, but Shelby’s hand _does_ come up to cup Toni’s jaw, and Toni’s hand _does_ travel down to rest somewhere between Shelby’s shoulders and hip, and both are panting when they pull away.

It’s a short kiss, but it’s enough.

They don't talk about it, though. Not in the minutes or days that follow, nor the months, nor the years. It gets to the point where Toni isn’t sure that she didn’t imagine the whole thing, because she doesn’t understand how Shelby could do what she did after that kiss, unless it just didn’t mean the same things for her.

And for years, Toni wonders how it could have been different if she’d just said something about it.

**_Now.  
_** They’re drunk.

After the cold getting to them, because it’s December, and impromptu winter stargazing is not so fun when you’re armed with nothing but a flannel and a hoodie, Shelby had said something along the lines of, “I don’t really wanna go home right now.”

Easily, almost too easily, Toni had replied, “You can come back to mine then.”

They’d ordered takeout, selected four bottles of wine to taste, and… now they’re drunk.

The last time Shelby saw Toni like this, they were sixteen at a college party, and they both woke up the next day vowing never to touch alcohol ever again. Of course, she’s assuming neither took that as a promise.

She also has to admit that being drunk is a far more pleasant experience when you’re twenty-four, and aren’t doing shots for the first time at a frat house while also sort of convinced God is going to snipe you to death at any given second. Wine Drunk Toni is turning into one of her favorite Toni’s, and if it’s sad that it took three bottles of the stuff for them to talk to each other about the actual issues that still live between them, so be it.

“I thought we were friends,” Toni rehashes for the millionth time. She leans her arm up against the seat of the couch cushions, and actually pouts at Shelby.

A swig of wine is intended to wash down the confession bubbling up, but it doesn’t, and Shelby finds herself saying, “I never wanted to be your friend.”

“Hm?” Toni looks adorably confused, and shakes her head. “Huh?”

“You know how I dated Andrew in sophomore year?” Shelby slurs, trying to stay focused enough to say the damn thing, but not so focused she comes to her senses and stops. Toni nods. “Well, I only did ‘cause I thought _you_ weren’t interested.”

“In what?” Toni blinks, trying to sober up her dazed expression, but it doesn’t work.

“In me, of course,” Shelby giggles, passing her the wine again. “I was in love with you, probably since the day we met.”

Considering the fact that it’s taken her eleven years to do so, Shelby has to admit it wasn’t really all that hard to say. She suspects the drinks influenced that a little bit. And then she remembers what she just said, and looks back at Toni, anxiety creeping in as she tries to figure out what Toni’s thinking.

It turns out, she doesn’t have to guess for long.

“I was in love with you, too,” Toni says. She smiles. “I think a lot. Always have been.”

It takes Shelby all of two seconds to process that, and then she’s rising from the floor to her knees, surging forward, and pressing Toni against the couch. It’s probably the worst kiss ever, considering they’re both clumsy enough in real life, never mind three bottles of wine in, but as soon as Toni figures out what’s actually going on, she tilts her head slightly so the angle is better, and is kissing her back.

And, _oh_. All Shelby can think about is the sweet, aching sense of relief.

They’ve kissed before, at least Shelby thinks they did. She’s not sure if it actually happened, or whether it was some false memory implanted by an evil subconscious. This is the first time they’ve thrown all inhibitions out the window, though.

Toni’s lips are soft, if a bit chapped, and she tastes like red wine. Her hands cup Shelby’s jaw, pulling her closer and closer until Shelby’s straddling her.

It then occurs to Shelby to remember that she really hasn’t kissed anyone like this in a long time. Whether it’s that, or simply the fact that this is Toni, she’s desperate. Her mouth is hungry and messy, and her hands grip into Toni’s hair, tugging and squeezing and scratching because if she doesn’t hold on, she might lose her again.

In the past, kisses were always anywhere from decent to "just fine." In the movies she’s acted in, or the books she’s read, Shelby always heard of kissing the right person like being drunk, or high, or floating on a cloud, or something else just as ethereal and dreamlike.

Well, she _is_ drunk for real, and if anything, Toni’s mouth sobers her. It anchors her, bringing her down, and reminding her that this is where she’s supposed to be. This is what’s right. For now, at least. For the weekend.

Quite frankly, and no offense to any of her past endeavors, but Shelby has never had a kiss that’s made her want _more_ so much. Predictable as always, Toni’s lips are fiery and harsh, as if making up for all the anger she’s been holding in over the years.

And, well, Shelby has to say she prefers this being Toni’s outlet over a screaming match or something.

Tirelessly, Toni’s kisses are somewhere in between furious and hungry — maybe both. Shelby has just the time to think, _That’s very on-brand,_ until Toni’s teeth are biting down just a little too harshly, and perhaps it’s just the principal of at all, but it hits Shelby right _there_. Without even thinking she grinds down, hard.

”Okay?” she mumbles.

”Yes,” Toni breathes.

Their kiss is still going, broken up by pants and mumbles of nothing, and Toni maneuvers them until there’s one knee between Shelby’s legs. So she grinds down again, and again, and Toni’s rising up to meet her, and God, it’s so high school, but damn if it isn’t addicting.

There’s a tug at the hem of her shirt, a silent request that Shelby immediately agrees to by lifting her arms. Her fingers return right back to Toni’s hair, and Toni starts mouthing her way from her lips to her throat to her collarbone.

“You got a tattoo,” Toni mumbles into a spot on her shoulder that Shelby knows is covered in a small piece of ink.

“For Russell,” Shelby admits softly. She stills slightly, because the dead father of the person she’s getting off on is really not something she wants to talk about right now.

With a sigh and a brush of her lips against the spot once more, Toni goes right back to kissing her with a vengeance. Her leg starts to rise up and down in tandem with Shelby’s hips, and it’s just so _much_.

Shelby knows she must be making all sorts of little noises, she’s always been that way, but the only thing she can think about is the way her body needs Toni. If she were a more emotionally evolved person, she might think about the way the rest of her needs Toni too, but right now, through the haze of the wine and her one-track mind, she can’t bring herself to think about it.

For all the bite and wit waiting on Toni’s tongue, she always knows when to soften. As their lips come apart, she hears Toni whisper, “You sound so good,” into her ear.

And just like that, embarrassingly fast, she’s arching up into Toni’s chest as she comes.

Toni’s hands are solid and firm around her, a stark contrast to the way Shelby’s are still gripping and re-gripping at Toni’s hair, and they ease her down with a stroke of the thumb across her cheek, and the gentle stillness of a palm across the small of her back.

Shelby lets her arms hang around Toni’s neck, and leans forward until she’s resting against Toni’s shoulders. She can’t bring herself to pull back and meet Toni’s eyes, so she just sits there, panting lightly over Toni’s shoulder.

Eventually, she does, though, searching Toni’s face for any sign that she’s about to be kicked to the curbed or cussed out. Instead, bright brown eyes twinkle with a kind of hazy delight that reminds her they _have_ been drinking.

“You’re drunk,” she whispers.

“Am not,” Toni says thickly. Shelby frowns at her disapprovingly. Toni grins, wraps her arms under Shelby’s ass and says, “If I was drunk, could I do _this_?” and stands up directly from where she was sitting.

Honestly? It would be impressive sober, but the fact that Toni _is_ at the very least tipsy, and still has the balance and strength to do that is surprisingly enough. That is, until she wavers in position. 

Shelby doesn’t even have it in her to care that she might be tossed to the floor at any second, but she murmurs, “You’re not really helping your case,” as Toni starts shuffling her way over to the staircase. She’s ignored, of course, and with her head slumped against Toni’s collarbone, she feels them start going up the steps. “I don’t want you to —“

“Shelby,” Toni says firmly. She halts halfway up, and tilts Shelby’s head back up to meet her eyes. “I’m fine. Really.” She smiles. “I’m good, if you’re good.”

Though she has no recollection of actually doing so, Shelby must whisper something the lines of, _Okay_ , because the next thing she knows she’s being laid on Toni’s bed and stripped so carefully, reverently even, and it almost makes her want to start tearing up.

_Absolutely fucking not_ , she thinks, swallowing down the lump in her throat. The idea of Toni trying to top her is ridiculous, for one thing, and for another, this is a drunk, _I-came-home-for-Christmas-and-we’re-emotional_ hookup. She knows if Toni starts doing something like being sweet to her, she might cry for real.

She kicks off her pants off the rest of the way, ignoring the way Toni tuts at not being able to peel them off agonizingly slowly, and just mumbles, “Come here,” until Toni does, stripping her own shirt off as she crawls up the length of the bed.

The next thing she knows, Toni is tucked into her arms with the blankets halfway up their bodies, and Toni is lazily tracing patterns over the tattoo on her shoulder. The clock on the nightstand tells her it’s well past two in the morning, and whether it’s the passage of time or what just happened, she feels considerably more sober.

From the gentle reassurance in Toni’s voice, when she says, “Now will you tell me the real reason you didn’t keep in touch?” she can tell Toni’s sobered up quite a bit as well.

Eyes squeezed shut tight, Shelby feels her heart start racing, but focuses her deep breaths on the rhythm of Toni’s finger on her shoulder, and says, “My career. My publicist told me I would be ruined if I was found to be gay. And I didn’t want to prove my parents _right_ , so —”

“Ellen did it,” Toni hums into her neck.

“Yes, but she already _had_ a career,” Shelby says. “I had one film under my belt, and fifty-thousand followers on Instagram. It would have been so easy to blacklist or typecast me forever, and that would have been it. It was 2008, Toni. And six years later, same-sex marriage isn’t even federally legal yet.”

There’s a soft sigh from below her. “So you chose your career.”

“You don’t understand,” Shelby whispers, finally letting the first of what should have been many tears slip out of the corner of her eye. “I was eighteen, and I was scared, and I —“

“I’m not judging you, Shelby,” Toni reassures her gently. It’s quiet as she presses a soft kiss to the curve of her jawline, and brushes a few rogue sweaty strands of hair back. “I just wish you had let me in.”

“How could I have?” Shelby says. It’s remarkable how the weight lifts off her just a bit with every word — funny how talking about your feelings will do that — so she keeps going. “You’ve always been my — my —“

“Kryptonite?” Toni offers.

“I suppose, you nerd,” Shelby laughs. But then she sobers, adding, “Well, I knew eventually I would want more from you. _With_ you. I still did, even without you in my life. I mean, God, I still do, even now.”

“Really?” Toni’s voice is tinged with something akin to hope, and Shelby tries not to squash it too hard when she replies.

“It’s not that simple.” She shakes her head a little. “I’m not brave. I don’t want to be a trailblazer or — or a _statement_ , or anything like that,” she says. Her fingers twist around the edge of the top sheet absentmindedly. “I’m just not ready yet.”

“You could have it now, here,” Toni says, the way Shelby knew she would, and wished she wouldn’t.

“I’m not asking you to wait for me,” Shelby whispers, hating the way her lungs quiver when she inhales sharply. Toni shifts slightly, so she’s on her side, and Shelby’s hand comes up to gently lift the bottom of Toni’s chin. “I’m not asking you to wait for me to be ready,” she repeats, “but you also can’t ask me to stay.”

Toni’s jaw tightens, eyes shifting around and looking anywhere but Shelby, but eventually, when they settle on hers again, her eyebrows relax in something akin to acceptance. “What about tonight, then?” she asks softly. Her own hand comes to rest on top of the back of Shelby’s. “Stay tonight?”

And when Shelby leans forward to breathe, “Tonight,” into Toni’s mouth, she doesn’t even try to stop the tears that slip down her cheeks.

She hates herself for letting this happen, and the way her limbs sink into Toni’s like quicksand spikes the bout of anxiety she’s been pushing down for years. All she can do is  cry into Toni’s neck, and then let her kiss away her doubt.

With every chaste brush of Toni's lips, and every whisper as they fall asleep, her heart sings the words, _We’re here_. Shelby doesn’t know how she’s supposed to get on a plane come Monday and go back to Los Angeles knowing that she gave this up, again.

She doesn’t know if she _can_. She’s scared she will anyway, but by God, she’s even more scared she won’t.


	2. two

**_Then — age 16.  
_** While Toni is incredibly jealous, she’s also equal parts endlessly frustrated that Shelby finds it pretty much impossible to sleep past five-thirty in the morning.

Apparently, this is because of something called “it’s a habit now” and “my parents hate me” and “I haven’t been allowed to sleep in since I turned twelve, and even then ‘sleeping in’ still meant ‘wake up at six.’”

So, maybe Toni isn’t _totally_ jealous, but every single time Shelby sleeps over, without fail, Toni wakes up long after her. Like, closer to nine or ten, especially on the weekends.

Every morning, also without fail, Shelby helps Russell cook breakfast.

The first time, Toni had blinked awake only to immediately realize the bed next to her was cold and empty. Sunlight was peeking through her half-open curtains, something she definitely closed the night before, and while Shelby’s backpack was still hanging on her desk chair, _she_ was nowhere to be found.

Until Toni, in all her morning laziness, slumped back against the pillows and was able to make out the distinct twinkle of Shelby’s laugh. And then Russell’s laugh. And then the smell of breakfast wafted in at her.

She thought maybe that was a one time thing, like, _Thanks for having me over! Let me cook breakfast!_ As Shelby’s sleepovers became more frequent, it became quite apparent that was not the case.

For all intents and purposes, Toni loves waking up to the smell of pancakes and bacon, and the sound of her father figure and her best friend joking around in the kitchen.

That being said, a part of her really wants to know what Shelby’s like when she wakes up. She wants to know what her morning voice sounds like before it’s been warmed with an hour long conversation with Russell. She wants to know if her hair is still perfect, and if she’s sleepy and cuddly, or immediately alert.

So, much to her chagrin at what it will entail, Toni concocts a plan.

As always, Shelby slides into the right side of the bed, and Toni wiggles under the covers of the left side. The lights are off, save for the nightlight because who knows if ghosts are real?, and after three years, their inhibitions have worn off.

Shelby doesn’t so much _cuddle_ per-say, but she _does_ curl inwards towards Toni instead of flat on her back like a corpse, and she does reach her hand out under the covers to lace fingers every night before they go to bed.

It’s sort of hard for Toni to believe they still do that, three years later, and it’s almost a problem because she actually finds it difficult to sleep when Shelby’s _not_ there to hold her hand.

On this night in particular, Toni relaxes into the pillows, absentmindedly rubbing her thumb across the back of Shelby’s own, and waits for her to fall asleep. She does, quickly, something Toni is also jealous of.

When she’d asked how it’s so easy for her to drift off, Shelby had something along the lines of “discipline” and “superior determination,” to which Toni had concluded that it was simply not in God’s plan for her to ever be like that.

Right now, though, she’s glad, because carefully as she can, she detangles their fingers, and slides out of bed. She tiptoes across the room, over to the window, and gently opens all the curtains. And then, hoping with all her heart there’s no creep outside waiting to look in, she goes back to bed.

The plan is for the sunrise, which comes at just before five in the morning, to wake Toni before Shelby’s internal body clock wakes her. Thus, Toni will get to not only see Shelby wake up, but also watch her sleep. In a totally not creepy sort of way.

She just figures that, after three years of Shelby _always_ seeing _her_ sleeping, she deserves equal treatment too, right?

So, Toni snuggles back into bed and drifts off, waiting for the morning light to ease her awake.

The next morning, as she slowly blinks herself to consciousness, she starts to come to her senses, and realizes two things.

First, it is definitely _not_ five in the morning, nor anywhere close to it. In fact, the clock on her bedside table reads her usual time of waking up, just past nine. Second, Shelby is definitely not in bed next to her, and… Toni groans, already hearing the familiar chatter from the kitchen.

Rising from the bed, she stops in the bathroom to pee and brush her teeth, and then throws her hair in a ponytail as she stalks into the kitchen. “‘Morning,” she says sourly.

Shelby turns, an adorable dusting of flour on her nose. “Oh, morning, Toni. I noticed the curtains were open when I got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, so I closed them for you.” She pauses, then explains, “I know how you have a hard time sleeping through the morning light.”

“How thoughtful of you,” Toni mumbles, sitting herself at the breakfast table.

“You know,” Russell says, guesting to where Toni is slumped at the table like a troll waiting to be fed, “it is _so_ nice having a third daughter that actually functions like a human being in the morning.”

There’s a cough, and Shelby’s cheeks are decidedly pinks as she stammers out, “I — I mean, I’m not — I —“ she can’t seem to pick what she actually wants to say, and in the end says, “I’m only here on the weekends, really.”

“And every day after school,” Russell points out, waving a spatula at her. He throws her a wink. “Although, you must know we’d get full custody of you if we could.”

Shelby just smiles, thoroughly glowing, and goes back to preparing breakfast. The two of them move around the kitchen and converse with each other like they can read each other’s minds, and Toni wonders what they actually do every morning when it’s just them and the sunrise.

It’s a tough one, but Toni decides she won’t try her experiment again.

First, because waking up early is the worst, but also because she can tell that this time alone with a father figure is something Shelby not just needs, but craves. Prior to being adopted by them, Toni related. She’s grown accustomed to a father who would drop everything for her if she just said the word, but she’s every so often reminded that not everyone has the same.

So, yeah, Toni decides. She can let Shelby have Saturday mornings.

**_Now.  
_** The first thing that comes to mind as she stirs awake is the unadulterated feeling of calmness, and rest.

As Shelby stretches just ever so slightly, she doesn’t think she can remember that last time she woke up not exhausted, and also not to the sound of a blaring alarm or the ridiculous earliness of the sunrise. Easing herself into consciousness and actually feeling wide awake is a new feeling for sure, but perfectly welcome.

Her stretch morphs into a yawn, which morphs into a rapid blinking of her eyes to clear her vision, and when she spreads out her toes, she almost jumps at the feeling of more skin under the blankets that definitely isn’t hers.

She turns, locking eyes instantly with Toni.

_Oh, right_.

“I did it,” Toni mumbles under her breath.

“Hm?” Shelby asks, still not sure whether she’s even awake, or still dreaming.

A cough, and then a blush. “Um, nothing.”

The curtains are cracked open, allowing enough light in to coat the room, and the window is cracked, allowing for a cool breeze to pair wonderfully with the nest of warmth that is practically radiating off the bed.

Toni’s skin is warm and soft, if a bit sticky from the sweat from the night before, but her arms are strong and sturdy as they wrap around Shelby’s midsection, and her smile is warm and hesitant as she turns so she’s on her side to face her.

Despite the jarring feeling of how contented she feels to be lying here like this, Shelby can’t help but warily watch as Toni watches her back. She prepares to be told that it was a mistake, or that she needs to leave, or anything like that, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, Toni presses a kiss to the slope of her jaw and murmurs, “Merry Christmas.”

Ah, yes. That too. 

“Mm,” she agrees, reaching up to take Toni’s right hand. “I should be at church right now.”

There should be a massive elephant in the room. Really, there should be, like, six by now, all squished into the empty space until it’s suffocating, but Shelby doesn’t feel any of that.

She considers that it might be actually a bad sign the two of them are able to compartmentalize their issues so well, but in the moment, she can’t really bring herself to care. Especially not when faced with the alternative looming issue of the fact that she has now been late to Christmas Day, skipped Christmas service, missed her mother’s Christmas Eve party in its entirety, _and_ definitely will show up at home looking like she’s just done the longest walk of shame ever.

It’s Toni who speaks first, though, saying, “I actually need to go. My mom comes home from the hospital today.”

“Of course,” Shelby says, sitting up. She pulls the sheets up under her arms, suddenly overcome with the fact that Bernice will be _here_. Here, as in the very home where Shelby defiled her daughter after abandoning her for six years. Cool. “So, I’m going to go home.”

As if reading her mind, Toni laughs. “You don’t have to do that.” Then, she tilts her head to the side, admitting, “She’ll actually probably want to see you.”

Shelby wants to say, _I know, that’s why I’m leaving_ , but what comes out is, “I know, but it _is_ Christmas.”

“Oh, right.” Toni frowns. “Well, tonight, then?”

“You want me to come back… tonight?” Shelby asks, because her spontaneously spending the night alone in the house is one thing, but doing it with her mother here and all that that implies is entirely different. Toni just nods. “Okay. I will.”

_And I’ll leave tomorrow_ , is yet another elephant in the room, but neither of them say that. Shelby’s words from so many years ago echo around her brain — something about crossing that bridge when it comes. For the thousandth time, she wonders what would have happened if Toni had pressed her to talk about it.

She wonders if she should press Toni now.

She doesn’t.

She wonders if that’s a mistake.

**_Then — age 15.  
_** With a wave behind her, she hears the distant call of, “See you at practice tomorrow!” from the window of one of her teammates’ car, and skips up the steps to her front door.

She’s half-prepared to bust into the kitchen like she usually does, all loud and annoying and ready for a snack, but stops just short when she hears Bernice and Shelby talking, along with the fact that nobody else is home.

Trying not to be creepy, Toni tiptoes down the hallway and just outside the kitchen. She pauses, waiting, and hopes she’s not intruding on anything actually serious.

“I know,” Shelby is saying, but there’s a clear frown in her voice. “I just — I mean, what do _you_ think is the right choice?”

“I can’t make that decision for you,” Bernice says gently. Toni can already picture her giving Shelby those soft, reassuring eyes, and maybe even reaching across the table to rest a hand across hers. “I can only help you sort through the facts so you can choose your own path.”

“I know that’s supposed to helpful and admirable,” Shelby mumbles, “and it probably is, but sometimes I just wish you’d tell me what to do.”

Bernice chuckles at that, and there’s the sound of shifting around. “You’re in a tough position, Shelby. It’s not one I would hope for any young person, least of all someone like yourself.”

“Like how?” Shelby asks, her voice tinged with a bit of self-consciousness.

“You do things for other people,” Bernice clarifies. “It’s not a bad thing, not always.”

“But it is when it’s _me_ ,” Shelby guesses.

“It is when you live for the sole purpose of making those who have wronged you angry, or live for the sole purpose of making those who have loved you happy.”

It’s a surprisingly insightful comment, and Toni files that away in her brain for later. She’s not sure what she’s going to do with it, but she realizes it _is_ true.

“So what am I supposed to do?” Shelby asks, voice small.

Toni crouches lower to the ground as Bernice sighs. “You live for _you_. Don’t leave just to make your mother angry, and don’t stay just to make Toni happy.”

A sudden feeling of “I shouldn’t be hearing this” and also “I wish I didn’t hear this” washes over Toni, and she can’t stop herself from frowning. She distantly recalls a singular conversation from, like, a year ago, where Shelby mentioned something about leaving, but she didn’t think it was _serious_.

She tries to remember what she’d said in response, but the question is vaguely answered for her when Shelby says, “Well, maybe Toni would come with me.”

“Maybe,” Bernice allows. There’s a pause so quiet Toni worries they might be able to hear her breathing, but then Bernice starts talking again. “Just know that, no matter what you choose, I will always support your decisions. Even if it’s hard for me. Even if it’s hard for Toni.”

“Really?” comes Shelby’s reply.

“Of course,” Bernice says. “Shelby, Toni may sympathize, but she will never be able to empathize with the struggles you face. Ever. Martha too. Their father and I are careful to create a home that ensures that that’s never the case.”

“Thank you,” Shelby says, and there’s an embarrassed sort of cough. “Thank you for doing that for her. And for me.”

“You’re a part of our family,” Bernice says quietly. “One way or another, I have the feeling you always will be.”

“Even if I leave?” Shelby asks, worry coming back.

There’s a sigh. “If you leave, it will be because you believe that’s what you need to do to be your best self. How could we stop loving you for trying to be happy?"

**_Now.  
_** All things considered, this return to home is still not nearly as bad as her return after skipping prom and falling asleep with Toni in some random person's backyard.

Spencer is still in the corner of the entry way, laughing his ass off, and her father is still looking at her disapprovingly with his arms crossed, and her mother is still trying to gut her with her eyes, but at least now she’s an adult.

Now, she can roll her eyes, mumble an apology, and leave them sputtering downstairs as she goes up to shower.

Her clothes strip off easily, gross enough from putting them back on this morning, and she steps gratefully into the attached bathroom. The hot water slowly turns her skin pink, because she’s weird and has always liked showering under scalding sprays, and she hopes the obvious sound of her showering is enough of a deterrent for her family to leave her alone.

At least this gives her time to think, because if there’s one thing she hasn’t decided, it’s what the hell she’s going to do tomorrow.

When Shelby had decided to come back for Christmas, she’d done so not consciously planning on, but sort of knowing she would inevitably talk to Toni one way or another.

She’d imagined _that_ going a million different ways, most of them not great.

In plenty of those daydreams, Toni yelled at her for ten minutes straight and then slammed the door in her face. In another, they passed by each other in the supermarket and Toni flipped her off. In one, Toni actually punched her.

It was obvious immediately that Toni would never do any of those things, but there _was_ a high possibility that she would still be upset. Which, like, is still an understatement. Also, she _was_.

Shelby just never imagined she would forgive her so quickly. Or invite her to spend the entire day together. Or get her drunk on wine and then kiss her, and then sleep with her, and then wake up in the morning telling her that her sick-with-cancer mother, who is also sort of Shelby’s mother in a not gross way, wants to talk to her.

_Fuck_.

If anything, Shelby had almost been hoping for Toni to stay mad at her. To tell her all the horrible things Shelby told herself over the years, to cry and beg for an explanation, and then to tell her she hates her and never wants to see her again.

It would have hurt, sure, but it would have easily made the decision for her.

Switching the shower off, Shelby jumps out of the tub and into the towel she’s laid out for herself. As she’s drying herself off, she thinks about something she’d asked Bernice when she was younger. No more than fifteen, probably.

Shelby had approached an idea somewhere along the lines of whether she’d still be considered a part of the family if she left Tupelo, and went off to whatever her backup plan at that time was.

She remembers Bernice had replied that she would always be part of the family, and that if she left, it would be because she thought that’s what she was supposed to do, and she could never be upset at her for trying to be happy.

The advice is pretty inapplicable to now, considering it was given years before she even left, but the one bit about her “thinking” that’s what she had to do won’t stop cycling through her thoughts. “Thinking,” as in, she would be _wrong_ , but it would be _her_ wrong decision to make.

Shelby can’t answer that one, because she doesn’t think she knows what it’s like to genuinely be happy, but it does make her realize how obvious Toni’s reaction would be. Toni is Toni, after all. Maybe isn’t Martha, but was still mostly raised mostly by the two most loving people Shelby has ever met. Of _course_ she would forgive her.

And so is the dilemma, once again. Is she supposed to break Toni’s heart, and go back home like she always intended? Does she ignore that doing so would break her own heart?

Shelby wishes Russell were there more than anything, and her throat feels thick when she swallows. Her thumb rubs gently over the tattoo on her shoulder, working an extra bit of lotion into the ink like she always does.

Getting dressed in what feels like a vaguely Christmas-y outfit of a red dress and casual hair, she must admit that staying in a house with the worst people she knows has its perks; at least they distract her from her inner turmoil.

How can she worry about what she’s doing tomorrow when her mother is snapping insults and corrections and demands every five seconds? How can she worry about Toni when her father won’t stop asking her about what movie she’s working on next, and will it be as bad as the last one?

After an hour of braving their conversations, Shelby excuses herself and hides in the smaller library on the floor of her and Spencer’s bedrooms. She’s sitting, there, watching out the window, and wondering if Christmas has always been such a miserable affair for other people, when Spencer finds her.

He knocks on the door frame, leaning against it with his arms crossed. He looks like the perfect Goodkind, of course, hair perfectly styled. His red shirt is even ironed, somehow he manages to roll the sleeves up in a way that looks classy, not messy, and he doesn’t even look desperate with the top two buttons undone.

“Spencer,” Shelby greets, about ready to punch him if he says anything out of line.

He grins. “Home sweet home, eh?”

“Why do _you_ come back every year?” Shelby demands.

He tucks his hands into the pockets of his black slacks. “I don’t know. Filial obligation?” There’s a slight smile toying on his lips, but the bitterness comes out in his next words as he adds, “Pressure from them? The knowledge that you won’t, so one of us should?”

Shelby frowns. “You have just as much reason not to visit as me.”

“I know,” he says simply. “But I was never as good at standing up to them, was I?”

“You were nice to me,” Shelby says softly. She meets his gaze, seeing the familiar sight of a charming, handsome face, that easily hides the constant and total worry in his eyes. “And you always loved me.”

“What an act of rebellion,” he mutters, looking down at his dress shoes. “Accepting and loving my own sister. I sure showed them, eh?”

His voice is dripping with sarcasm, but Shelby shrugs, and gives him a nod. “Well, yeah. When you’re a Goodkind, being accepting at _all_ is an act of rebellion.”

There’s a pause, and they just look at each other. Spencer stands there in his Christmas best, and though his smile and the twinkle in his eyes still warms her heart just as much as it did when she was a child, there’s a barrier between them she doesn’t think will ever go away.

She’s come to realize, especially as she reflects on the relationship Toni has with Martha, that she and Spencer aren’t siblings, they’re teammates.

They’ve fought battles together and stuck up for the other when needed. They spent their childhoods performing covert operations such as telling their parents they forgot a Bible verse, enduring mealtimes, or being criticized at every turn, but it’s not enough.

As much as the sight of Spencer might calm her down, there’s an instant association with _why_ he used to calm her down so much. Reason being her parents and the lifeless shell of a home they grew up in.

His smile is charming as ever, a radiant thing that speaks words without having to, but Shelby can’t see it without remembering how many times he used to smile at her over the dinner table to cheer her up when her parents berated her for fifteen minutes over a ninety-two on a school exam.

His touch might be soft and gentle, but it doesn’t erase the fact that he really only would hold her hand or sling an arm around her shoulders to comfort her while they were lectured for not being Godly enough or something, and she was trying not to cry.

His nicknames for her bring an immediate warmth to her heart, but it also brings a sense of dread because most of the time, if he used a nickname on her, it was after she agreed to cover for him if he snuck out. Meaning, if he got caught, it would be _her_ who got in trouble as well.

Family by association, maybe, siblings by technicality, but really, they’re allies. Nothing more.

Shelby wonders if it would ever be, or was ever, possible for them to have a normal sister and brother relationship. Given they were raised in the Goodkind household, she thinks probably not. 

The pause eventually gets to be too much, because Spencer sighs. “Are you happy, Shelbs?” he asks. “I mean, really, actually, truly happy?”

She tries to respond, she does, but Shelby just can’t bring herself to articulate the way she _is_ happy, but still longs for something that’s just ‘more.’ She doesn’t know how to differentiate between true happiness with herself, and mere happiness with her situation. She probably needs to go to therapy.

In the end, Shelby just shrugs. She doesn’t know what to say.

**_Then — age 14.  
_** It’s Christmas Eve, and Shelby is here.

Toni isn’t sure exactly how this happened, but she remembers something along the lines of Shelby’s parents going to Italy for Christmas, and Shelby saying something about how she had to work on a school project over break with some classmates, which lead to the question of where she would stay, which lead to the inevitable decision for her to stay at the Blackburn residence for six whole days.

If she’s being honest, Toni never in her wildest dreams could have imagined Shelby’s parents allowing this, but here she is, happily drinking a fourth cup of hot chocolate with Martha at the kitchen table.

A smile creeps its way onto Toni’s lips as she sees Russell plunking a steady stream of marshmallows into Shelby's mug.

With a bright smile, Shelby spies her lurking in the doorway, and immediately rises to her feet. Toni shifts on the spot, feeling herself flush under the scrutiny of all three kitchen occupants, but says, “Do you wanna come sit on the swing with me?”

“Sure,” Shelby says, following her out onto the porch.

The swing itself isn’t huge, and isn’t all that comfortable, but a couple months ago Toni had decked it out with some decent cushions, and she tugs a blanket with them as she closes the front door behind her.

“I’m glad the sky is clear,” Toni says, situating herself on the swing.

“Why?” Shelby asks, looking up at the sky.

“The stars,” Toni says simply. “Can’t see ‘em when the clouds are out.”

There’s a beat of silence as they realize the swing really is _not_ big enough for two people to sit any other way but side by side, feet dangling off the end.

Toni can tell Shelby is wondering if it’s okay to ask if she can sit with her feet up, so she just offers a smile and coaxes, “C’mere, we only have one blanket, so we should huddle close.”

“Right,” Shelby mutters, sliding onto the bench of the swing, and slowly relaxing into Toni’s touch.

“What do you know about the stars?” Toni asks, trying to distract Shelby before she starts overthinking the whole thing.

“Um, not much, I suppose,” Shelby admits, allowing Toni to tug her back until she’s resting against Toni’s front. She tucks the blanket in around them, and doesn’t pull away when Toni rests her right hand overtop her own, and slots their fingers together.

“So, I couldn’t figure out what to get you for Christmas,” Toni says, grateful that Shelby can’t actually see her face in all its bright red glory. “But I know you like to learn about stuff like a nerd, so I thought I could tell you about the constellations.” A pause. “I have another present for you, too, but honestly, I totally forgot about Christmas, _and_ I’m only fourteen and I only get money on my birthday, so —“

“It’s perfect,” Shelby says, gently cutting her off. She turns back slightly, twisting only a bit so as not to dislodge the blanket cocooning them together. “Really, being here at all is the only Christmas present I want.”

“Oh,” Toni says, exhaling. She nods. “Okay, great.”

“So,” Shelby says, settling back into Toni’s arms, “which one is your favorite?”

Resisting the urge to do something dumb like kiss the top of Shelby’s head, Toni turns towards the sky, and says, “Well, I don’t know that it’s my _favorite_ , but it’s the most recent one I learned about, and I like it a lot. It’s a love story.”

“I didn’t know there were _stories_ behind the stars,” Shelby says, genuine surprise in her voice.

“Oh, yeah,” Toni says, nodding. “Most of the constellations were named _because_ of the stories in them. That’s why there are some discrepancies between the mythology and what they’re called around the world.”

“A love story,” Shelby repeats faintly. “That sounds nice.”

“Have you ever heard the term, ‘star-crossed lover’?” Toni asks, already knowing the answer. Shelby dutifully nods. “The myth of Altair and Vega fits that perfectly. It’s a Chinese myth, I believe, and there are a lot of versions of it but —“ she hesitates, then says, “— but I like one of them more.”

“Why?” Shelby asks.

_Because you’re a goddess, and I am a lowly peasant girl,_ doesn’t seem like a great response, so Toni quickly says, “Just do, I guess. Anyway, the story goes that Vega, an immortal goddess, fell in love with a mortal, herding boy, Altair. It was frowned upon for gods and mortals to mix, so they were separated by a river. But one night a year, some birds take pity on them, and flock together so they form a bridge. Suspend your disbelief for a minute."

“Star-crossed lovers, I suppose,” Shelby agrees.

“And it doesn’t stop there,” Toni says. She closes her fingers around Shelby’s hand entirely, lacing all their fingers together except their pointer fingers, and reaching up towards the sky. “You see that star at the top of that diamond thing?”

“Mhm,” Shelby says, letting Toni trace it with their hands.

“That’s Vega,” Toni explains. “And there —“ she shifts their hands down, “that’s Altair.” She smiles. “Between them is the Milky Way.”

“The river from the story,” Shelby says, a laugh bubbling up. “That’s very clever.”

“I thought you’d like that one,” Toni says, feeling entirely too pleased with herself.

“It’s kind of sad, though. I mean, one night a year?” Shelby says in disbelief. “That’s a terrible arrangement.”

“I like the idea that you could love someone so much that you’re willing to love them every day, even if you don’t get to see them,” Toni shrugs. “And, maybe one night is enough for them.”

**_Now.  
_** Dinner is about as fun as it always is in the Goodkind house, which is to say, not.

Among the usual suspects of delicious food tainted by glares, silence, and curt remarks, Shelby is now also the victim of a snide comment every five minutes about how she missed the party last night.

“Everyone wanted to see you,” her mother says, sipping from her wine glass.

Shelby takes a gulp of hers, prompting a glare, and swallows roughly. “Oh. My apologies.”

“It seems even _we_ haven’t seen you,” she continues, as if that wasn’t clearly on purpose. “This is the first time you’ve been home in six years, you only stay three nights, and you’re gone for almost all of them!”

“Er, actually, it _will_ be all of them,” Shelby mumbles.

“When you mumble, I can’t hear you,” Dave says, hiding the threat behind a smile. Spencer cringes, because he absolutely caught what was said.

“I won’t be here tonight, either,” Shelby says, and before her mother can absolutely lose it, she adds, “and I probably won’t be able to visit before my flight tomorrow morning.”

Her mother purses her lips, and sends a look towards Shelby’s father with a sharp, “ _Dave_.”

“And where might you be instead?” he says. Shelby rolls her eyes. “In fact, where _have_ you been?”

“The Blackburn house,” Shelby says, because if she’s going to ruin the evening, she might as well go out with a bang. The response is an immediate flood of disapproving looks and little tuts here and there, but Shelby just tunes it all out.

She has to say, for all her parents’ demonic qualities, homophobia beyond what could be expected from the average God-fearing person was never one of them.

It’s a distinct memory, still, the day she’d eventually just snapped and said, “I’m a lesbian, dad,” after her father had gone on yet another rant about how she should date Andrew.

After a brief pause, he had just said, “Well, if it _must_ be a girl, at least Fatin Jadmani. You think I’m stupid, but I know you have something going on with that Shalifoe girl. She doesn’t fit in with us, or you, and we both know it.”

It became a reoccurring theme that while they never approved, they also never _fought_ with Shelby being interested in women. They just went to war over the fact that it was Toni. She hasn’t quite figured out if that’s better or worse, but in the end, doesn’t care.

“I like the Blackburn family,” Spencer pipes up, because apparently he has decided to say ‘fuck it’ to their parents too.

Admittedly, Shelby’s sort of proud of him, but stands up abruptly from the table and says, “I have a phone call with my publicist.”

She ignores the “Really? It’s Christmas” called towards her retreating form, and stomps all the way up the wooden stairs and towards her bedroom.

Her phone has been turned off and resting on her bedside table this entire time, and she cringes she she starts booting it up. The onslaught of notifications isn’t as bad as she thought it would be, given the holidays, but it’s overwhelming nonetheless.

She scrolls through her texts for a bit just to make sure nobody has died since she’s been gone, fires off a quick message to her publicist something along the lines of “I’m alive, Merry Christmas,” and at that, sends her publicist a five grand gift as payment for whatever emotional damage she went through over the past couple days.

Ignoring all of her missed calls, including her publicist’s, she calls Becca.

“Hey,” she says, already wincing.

“Um, I thought you died?” Becca asks, the chatter of what a happy, fun Christmas should sound like in the background. "Maybe next time let your _best friend_ know before you decide to turn off your phone for a weekend." She sighs. "Where have you even been?"

“At Toni’s?” Shelby tries.

The blanket of noise dims somewhat, and the sound of a door shutting can be heard from across the line. “Sorry, I think you just said you were at Toni’s.”

“Well, yeah,” Shelby says, shifting around on her feet.

“For the past two days?” Becca says, as if the notion is ridiculous. Shelby flushes. Even though they can’t see each other, Becca actually, audibly gasps. “Damn, you swooped back in after _six_ years and within a day won her over enough to deflower her through the night?”

“I didn’t _deflower_ her,” Shelby says, rolling her eyes, although she does take a moment to feel decently pleased with herself. “And why didn’t you tell her I was coming to visit?”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to,” Becca says. “She and I also aren’t, like, close or anything.”

“I saw Leah,” Shelby says, because she doesn’t really have anything else to respond to about that.

“Let me guess, she was working the counter at the donut shop?” Becca asks. Shelby’s laugh tells her enough, and she sighs. “God, I can’t wait to be back and eat their leftover Christmas ones.”

“Come visit me,” Shelby whines, knowing fully well that out of the two of them, she’s probably the one who should be doing the visiting.

“Stay for more than three days next time,” Becca retorts with a scoff, and a, “I’m rolling my eyes, just so you know.” There’s a very pregnant pause, so much so that it might give birth at any moment. “I’m surprised you’re leaving.”

“Oh?” Shelby says. She doesn’t admit she is, too, but she says, “Tell me more.”

“Honestly, I don’t know _how_ you’re able to leave again,” Becca says, and there’s a rustle over the speaker like she’s shrugging.

Shelby sighs. “I think it’ll be different this time. I’ll give her my number, and we’ll stay in touch. Probably.”

It’s not very convincing, which is obvious when Becca says, “That’s ridiculous, and you know it. You are _terrible_ at staying in touch.”

This is true. Shelby sighs. “I know. But what am I supposed to do? Isn’t it equally as unfair for me to expect Toni to uproot her entire life as it is for her to expect me to do the same?”

“It’s called a compromise,” Becca says. “I’m rolling my eyes again.”

“Thanks,” Shelby drawls sarcastically. “You’ve gotten awfully mean since moving to the city.”

“No, I’ve always been mean to you,” Becca waves her off. “Anyway, you and Toni need to figure your shit out, and you’ve got approximately not enough time. Where are you now?”

“My parents’ house,” Shelby mumbles.

“Uh, why?” comes Becca’s response.

Her eyes track around her unpacked room, not that she brought a lot of stuff, and she sets Becca on speakerphone. “I don’t know, I mean, I came to visit them, right?”

A laugh bubbles up from across the line. “Yeah, no. You may have said that, but you were always here to visit Toni.”

Shelby’s fingers still as she’s roughly folding the clothes she brought. Two pairs of jeans she knows make her ass look good, shirts in Toni’s favorite colors, and even the dress she’s wearing now that was intended for the Christmas Eve party. “Hm. Maybe.”

And then Becca’s voice softens. “Don’t play around with her. It’s not fair to Toni, and it’s not fair to you, either.” They sit on that for a moment, and then, “I hope you know what you’re doing with this.”

Shelby sighs. “Yeah, me too.”

**_Then — age 16.  
_** When Toni had suggested they skip prom, she was mostly kidding.

Rather, she wasn’t, but the idea that Shelby would actually do it was so absurd it might as well have been a joke. If Toni knows one thing about Shelby and her father’s relationship, it’s that Dave cares far too much about what Shelby does, and Shelby cares far too much about what Dave _wants_ her to do.

Prom, apparently, is one thing that Dave is highly invested in. It’s not exactly clear why this is true, just that it is. Something about auctioning her off to the highest bidder, or testing out marriage arrangements.

This is all according to Shelby, of course, and whenever she says stuff like that about her parents, Toni is never really sure whether she’s kidding or not.

When she had said, “All the more reason not to go then, right?” with a grin and a wiggle of her eyebrows, and Shelby had laughed and said, “Perfect,” the intentions and implications were a fuzzy somewhere in between joking and a promise.

That line clears up pretty quickly when Shelby bounces up to her after lunch and says, “What do you want to do tonight?”

“Um, prom?” Toni asks. She pauses. “Unless you don’t want to?”

“You said we should skip,” Shelby says, practically pouting at her.

“I did,” Toni says, eyes slightly wide. “Do you actually want to? I didn’t think you would. I mean, your dad…”

“Fuck my dad,” Shelby says, and maybe she looks around after she’s said it like Dave will appear out of thin air to yell at her, but she’s still smiling when she meets her eyes again. “If you want to go, we can, but I’d be happy to not.”

“Okay,” Toni says, nodding decisively. “Okay, let’s not.”

So, they don’t.

They find themselves at a diner about the same time they should be meeting at Rachel and Nora’s house. Maybe it’s a movie cliche, Toni doesn’t know, but she _does_ know that Shelby is risking her father’s wrath for this, so she’s going to make it the best night ever.

“I’ll have the chocolate chip pancakes, two scrambled eggs with cheese, a hot chocolate, hashed browns, and a side of bacon,” Toni ticks off to the waitress. She narrows her eyes at Shelby. “And she’ll have a strawberry and Nutella waffle, side of sausage, and side of fresh fruit.”

She ignores Shelby’s huff, because she will _not_ let her friend order something boring like toast on what’s going to be one of the most memorable nights of their lives.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Shelby says, suddenly looking a little stricken.

Toni reaches over the table, and Shelby instinctively offers her hand. “Hey. It’s okay.”

“Uh-huh,” Shelby says, panicking. “It’ll be okay, until my dad kills me.”

“If you want to still go, we can still make it,” Toni says, but as soon as the words leave her mouth, Shelby is shaking her head and taking deep breaths.

“No, I want to have a good time tonight. With you,” she adds. “Besides, I actually don’t want to go. I hate dances. What’s the point?”

“Um, dancing?” Toni guesses. She’s rewarded with a little chuckle, so she rolls with it. “Although, if you think about it, ‘dancing’ is a stretch of a word. More like stand on the sidelines or grind with strangers in a nauseating mosh pit.”

Shelby wrinkles her nose. “Exactly.” She flips her hair back, smoothing down the already smooth top, and says, “Besides, the after parties are really where the fun is.”

“Does your dad approve of that?” Toni wonders, eyes lighting up at the arrival of their food. “I mean, if it’s a _prom_ after party, maybe it’s okay?”

“Nice try,” Shelby laughs, picking up her fork. “I think my brother already tried that. No dice.”

“Mm,” Toni mumbles through a mouthful of potato. “Well, if you want to go to one, tell me so the Not Prom Evening itinerary can be adjusted.”

“You planned tonight?” Shelby asks, and her tone is scarily unreadable.

Toni squirms under her gaze, and says, “A little?” No answer. “I mean, don’t get excited or anything. Just thought of some activities we could do.”

“What’s next, then?” Shelby asks, smiling up at her.

The evening consists of pretty much just walking around, because neither of them have a car, but Toni makes sure they stop in at all of Shelby’s favorite stores to browse. She also convinces her to have ice cream, pushing past very Dave-like objections with, “Yes, Shelby, I’m aware we had a dessert-like meal, too.”

“I have swimming on the list,” Toni recalls, as they still at a streetlight while they decide what to do next.

“Where?” Shelby laughs.

“Um, I think my plan was to break into the community pool,” Toni says. At that, Shelby wrinkles her nose, and Toni almost wants to make fun of her for being a snob, except, yeah, the community pool absolutely deserves a nose wrinkle. “Alright, well, not that,” she decides.

“I wish you had a car,” Shelby says. She gazes wistfully into the sky. “Then we could go visit the animals.”

‘The animals’ refers to the barn and agriculture ranch where Toni volunteers sometimes. It’s owned by a family, but it’s also put on display for kids to come learn about farming and fresh food, and Toni is partial to taking care of the goats.

Toni checks her watch. “Well, it’s almost midnight. We could go to a party,” she offers, and while she can tell Shelby doesn’t really _love_ the idea of being surrounded by a bunch of sweaty, drunk people in a loud, equally sweaty house, she agrees.

They end up at a party that’s really more like a kickback, with quiet music playing, and a gentle hum of people. There’s a section in the back playing flip cup that lets out a burst of noise on the occasion, but for the most part, people are just hanging out and talking.

It’s amusing seeing the remnants of prom on everyone.

Most of the boys have just taken off their ties and rolled up their sleeves, but some have changed into an amusing combination of dress shirts and board shorts, and the girls also don a mixture of corsages, tennis shoes, prom dresses, and running shorts.

“Is Becca here?” Toni asks, looking around to try and spy someone she’s actually friends with.

“Nah,” Shelby says, waving at a girl Toni recognizes from her Physics class. “She’s not really the party type. Like, even less than I am.” After considering this, it checks out. “I think Leah talked about coming here, though.”

A quick once around shows that Leah is _not_ here, so they make their way over to what Toni can only assume is a poor attempt at a bar. There’s a few bottles of vodka and whiskey here and there, as well as a cooler stuffed with beer, and some chasers on the side.

At this point, half of it is gone, but Toni mixes them two whiskey cokes anyway. She may have grown up with Martha, but she _does_ know how to mix a drink. Rather, she knows how to pour two liquids into one cup. Whatever.

She passes Shelby a red solo cup saying, “Don’t put that down, okay?” to which Shelby rolls her eyes, and says, “Yes, mom.”

As they take a seat in the gaps of a crude circle formed around a coffee table, Toni practically has a stroke when she sees Shelby fish a joint out of her pocket. She knows better than to say something dumb like, “Is that weed?” in a room full of people who probably do drugs much harder than that, but her shock is hard to contain.

“D’you wanna smoke?” Shelby asks, catching a lighter from someone.

“Um,” Toni says. “I didn’t know you did weed.”

The amusement on Shelby’s face is palpable, and it always comes out when Toni’s ‘I grew up with Martha Blackburn’ side comes out. It makes Toni blush, but Shelby says, “Not often. Don’t tell Jesus, but Dot got me into it, and it’s just fun sometimes. Helps me sleep.”

Dot smoking — right, you smoke it, not _do_ it — is a whole other aneurysm, but Toni doesn’t have time for that, so she just says, “Maybe I could try it.”

“No pressure,” Shelby says, flicking open the lighter. “This is a hybrid, a little more on the indica side, so it’ll probably just relax you, maybe make you a little hungry.”

Toni understood maybe two of those words, so she just nods, and takes another sip of her drink. “Noted.”

“Hey!” a voice from across the circle calls out. It’s a girl called Karen, who’s a year above them, and about to graduate. “Didn’t see you at prom, Goodkind.”

“No, you didn’t,” Shelby agrees with a grin. She tosses the lighter back to her. “How was it?”

“Not worth it,” Karen laughs. She’s nursing a beer, but she looks much more put together than the rest of the group. Toni spies a few shot glasses as well as a whole, mostly empty bottle of tequila that is probably the culprit.

“This is Toni,” Shelby says, exhaling a little puff of smoke as she does.

“I know,” Karen says, smiling at Toni. “You two are only, like, attached at the hip. No wonder you turned my brother down for her.”

“It’s not like he asked me out,” Shelby says, cheeks turning pink. “Just, like, to prom. As friends.”

“I thought you were smart, Goodkind,” Karen deadpans. “You thought my brother was asking you to prom as a friend?”

“Some wishes do come true?” Shelby tries, and Toni can add to the list of times she’s actually seen her look slightly ruffled. So far, the list accounts for three occasions, including this one.

“Toni is a much better catch than him anyway,” Karen agrees, flicking the lighter on and burning the end of her own joint.

At this point, Toni doesn’t even know if Karen is kidding or not, and from the looks of it, Shelby isn’t sure either. She just takes the opprotunity to put the end of her joint out on the glass table after just a couple minutes, and tucks the rest back in her pocket. Before Karen can ask her another question, Shelby raises her cup to her lips, and then changes the subject immediately.

An hour later, Shelby is looking over at her with a lazy smile on her lips, and is blinking slowly. “Do you wanna go outside?”

Toni nods, and her limbs feel considerably more wiggly when she takes Shelby’s hand and stands up. The rest of the party hasn’t changed much, with a game section still going strong, although they’ve now switched to beer pong, and people are still coming in and out of everywhere.

They pass various groups of people chatting, the drinks table which has practically been milked dry at this point, and push past a couple one kiss short of dry-humping on the lawn chairs.

Tugging her rather unceremoniously down onto the grass, Shelby produces the joint again, and a lighter Toni recognizes as Karen’s, though she doesn’t remember Shelby taking it back at all. Shelby lights it up again, and has it hanging out of the corner of her mouth when she asks, “Wanna try?”

“Leah permanently scarred me from smoking,” Toni says sleepily. “She said she inhaled too quickly and then coughed so hard she threw up.”

“It’s not that bad,” Shelby says, inhaling lightly through her teeth, as if to say, _See?_ “You get used to it, at least.”

“Hm,” Toni says, not impressed at all.

“I could —“ Shelby blushes, and looks away. “Never mind.”

“No, what?” Toni says, furrowing her eyebrows.

Shelby sighs. “I was going to say I could shotgun it to you, but never mind.”

“What’s that?” Toni asks, hoping her less than coherent brain will remember to Google it later.

“Just a method to help the burn in your throat,” Shelby says, offering a quick smile. “But no pressure. Maybe next time.”

She rolls onto her back, and Toni follows suit, fingers still lightly intertwined between them. The grass is cool, as is the breeze of the night, but Toni stress-drinks or eats anything within her reach when she’s nervous, which tonight happened to be alcohol, so she’s pleasantly warm.

“Altair and Vega,” Shelby whispers, eyes unfocused as they look towards the sky.

“Hm?” Toni says off instinct, but when she looks up, the two stars shine just a little brighter as she identifies them. “Ah, yes. Poor kids.”

“Maybe tonight’s the night,” Shelby says, and Toni can feel her shrugging a bit. “You know, they only get one night a year. Maybe it’s tonight.”

“Maybe,” Toni says. When she turns her head, she finds Shelby is already looking at her with an expression so inscrutable she almost looks upset. She hesitates, but what she couldn’t bring herself to ask under the fluorescent lights of the diner is feeling considerably easier now that it’s past midnight, and she’s had the equivalent of about four shots. “Why didn’t you want to go to prom? I mean, with James?”

There’s an unmistakable sharp intake of breath, and then Shelby leans a little closer. “Toni, I’m gay.”

There’s no build-up, nor fanfare, so much so that it takes a few seconds for Toni to even realize the weight of what she’s said. “Oh,” she says, licking her lips lightly. “Me, too.”

The crinkle in Shelby’s brow smooths, and she lets her lower lip catch between her teeth before saying, “Really?” Toni nods. “Cool.”

Shelby’s fingers twitch in her hand as if to say, _Don’t tell anyone_ , and Toni squeezes back with a promise of, _I won’t_ , and she swears she sees Shelby look down at her lips, as if _she_ hasn’t been looking at _hers_ this whole time, and the air is buzzing with _something_ , and Toni is half a step from leaning in to meet where Shelby looks like she’s already tipping slightly forward when a crash sounds from the house.

Just like that, the moment is gone.

They lie back on the lawn, and Toni’s lips burn with all the kisses they’ve never had. Her fingertips tingle where they’re still intertwined with Shelby’s, and there’s a thump of a heartbeat so loud she’s not sure whose it is.

All in all, it feels a lot like that time they maybe-kissed at six in the morning. Toni still isn’t really sure if it was a dream or not.

She doesn’t bring either of the moments up again, ever, and she knows Shelby won’t either, so if they want to talk about it, it’s on her. They both know that. But she doesn’t. She just lets it be what it is, and ignores all the times it feels like they’ve confessed something to each other.

She thinks it’s the right choice, but there are moments when it feels like they _could_ kiss, in another life, but they don’t. And every time, Shelby looks almost disappointed, and every time, Toni wonders if this is when she’s supposed to say something, but every time, she doesn’t. 

**_Now.  
_** All things considered, walking out of your childhood home with your absolutely fuming parents behind you is really not a huge deal when you realize you just don’t care anymore. Shelby waves them off with a weary goodbye, and slides into the Uber without so much as a look back.

It’s interesting how, within two days, an Uber ride to Toni’s went from more nerve-wracking than her first audition to the most comfortable thing in the world. It just feels right, though, and Shelby wonders if they’re defying some larger than life being by having two nights together rather than one.

Something looks different about the house when they roll up, though, and alarm bells start ringing in Shelby’s ears the moment she steps out.

The lack of truck parked out front tells her Toni isn’t home, while the light in the living room tells her that Bernice absolutely is. She almost turns around, not sure if she wants to face her for the first time in six years alone, but then decides that after all Bernice gave her, the least Shelby can do in return is a conversation.

She stalls on her way up the porch as long as she can, but then she’s just standing there looking at the porch swing. That’s worse, though because it was on that very swing that, armed with a cup of tea, Shelby had told Bernice she was leaving.

In fact, Bernice was the first one she ever told, a fact she isn’t sure Toni even knows.

So she knocks. Once, lightly, almost embarrassingly lightly, and then again with a sharper rap on the front door.

“Come in!” comes that voice she’d know anywhere. Shelby does, gently opening the door, and poking her head in. She’s rewarded with the sight of Bernice sitting in an armchair, and her heart bursts at the way Bernice clearly lights up upon recognizing her. “Shelby! Toni told me you’d come to visit. Since when do you knock?”

The tone of voice is immediately so maternal it melts away Shelby’s inhibitions right away. Closing the door behind her, she jokes, “Well, after six years, I wasn’t sure what rules still applied to me.”

“Nonsense,” Bernice tuts, “once a member of the family, always a member of the family.”

It’s then that Shelby starts actually looking around, and it’s apparent _why_ the living room has been rearranged.

The wide gaps between the coffee table and all the furniture is now obviously so that Bernice’s wheelchair will fit through the cracks, and the television has been moved so the optimal spot to watch is the armchair, not the couch.

“You look well,” Shelby says lamely. It’s not _not_ true. There’s still the same light and spark within Bernice, and she’s nowhere near as frail and weak as Shelby’s worst imaginations had conjured up, but there’s something about the way she sits and talks and breathes as if everything is just exhausting.

And, well, it might be.

As if she can read Shelby’s thoughts, Bernice smiles ruefully. “You don’t need to lie to me. I know it’s not great.” Silence. She nods towards the sofa. “Come sit. Please.”

Dutifully, Shelby takes her place on the corner of the couch cushions, and wonders if the past minute was just a front, and Bernice is about to yell at her for abandoning her and her daughter. She braces herself for it, practically cringing just thinking about it.

Instead, Bernice leans back, seemingly satisfied, and says, “How are you doing?”

The immediate rise of eyebrows pulls a laugh out of Bernice. Shelby blushes, but wonders how on Earth to answer that. “Um,” she says, “I don’t know.”

“Not much has changed, then,” Bernice teases. She watches Shelby for a second, critical, but not unkind, and then says, “Really, I hope you’ve been well. And happy. And successful.”

“Those aren’t the same thing?” Shelby mumbles. Bernice says nothing, and as usual, seems to know just when to coax, and when to wait her out. Eventually, Shelby continues, “I’ve been okay. I was struggling for a little bit, just getting bit parts here and there. After playing the best friend in that vampire movie, though, that was a breakthrough. Since then, I’ve been doing bigger and bigger movies. I auditioned for a pilot recently, too.”

She trails off, because Bernice looks highly unimpressed. Gently as ever, she says, “Shelby, if I wanted to know how your career was doing, I would check your IMDB page. How are _you_ doing?”

And isn’t that always the question?

Shelby opens her mouth to respond, but finds she has nothing to say. She gapes for a few seconds, and finally decides on, “I don’t think I’ve ever lived in a time in which my career and I were separate.”

“Are you happy?” Bernice asks. Her eyebrow is arched just so, and Shelby is immediately taken back into a memory from when she was about seventeen, and they were sitting on the porch swing together.

She’d asked the same question, and Shelby had struggled to respond in the same way. In fact, she distinctly recalls how she’d said something about her grades until Bernice had told her that she didn’t ask about school, she asked about _her_.

It’s not exactly comforting to know she hasn’t changed at all since then, but she tries to think back on what she’d said all those years ago.

Echoing her past self, she says, “I could be.”

This seems to placate Bernice, who nods, leans back, and says, “Well, then I trust you to find a way to get there.”

The gentle hum of the heating system in the home fills the emptiness as they just sit there, watching each other. Shelby can only hold back for so long before she says, “You’re being awfully relaxed about this.”

“About what?” Bernice says, amusement obvious.

“Me coming back after being radio silent for years,” Shelby says, cringing at how that sounds, even now. She sighs. “Not Toni. She was so mad at me.”

“No, Shelby,” Bernice says, shaking her head slightly. She shifts, loose shirt adjusting slightly, and it’s suddenly all the more apparent how skinny she’s gotten. “Toni was never mad at you for leaving.”

“Um,” Shelby starts, but Bernice shakes her head even harder, cutting her off.

“I can’t believe you haven’t realized this by now,” she says, as if reprimanding her for not knowing something as simple as the days of the week, “but Toni was happy for you. Proud of you. Excited for you. Her anger may have looked like it was directed at your departure, but it was at herself. For not going _with_ you.”

“What?” Shelby asks, and she clamps her hands between her thighs lest they start shaking or something equally as embarrassing. _Toni wanted to come._ “How do you know that?”

A shrug. “She told me,” Bernice says simply.

It’s a sobering thought, to think there were months where Toni might have hopped on a plane and joined her in LA if she’d gotten on the phone and begged.

Truth be told, Shelby did write out and almost send several lengthy emails, did almost message on Instagram, once that became a thing, did almost call, did almost come visit, did almost ask Leah how things were… so many “almosts.” Perhaps, too many.

It’s also a stark reminder that she’s leaving again, tomorrow, and she doesn’t know if Bernice knows that or is trying to tell her something.

“Maybe then,” Shelby allows, “but she’d never leave you now.”

Something flashes across Bernice’s eyes, be it guilt or frustration or amusement, or even all three, but then it fades into a calm serenity. “She would if I left her first.”

“But…” Her words fail her, because that statement could only mean one thing. Bernice, patient as always, sits there and waits for her to figure it out. Shelby shakes her head. “But —“

“I’m stage four,” Bernice says, arching an eyebrow pointedly because she must know that Toni distinctly told Shelby she was stage three. “Prognosis is terminal. There’s no other way to say it. I’ve stopped treatment entirely.”

“What?” Shelby says, because if she’d known she’d be ambushed with _this_ , she would have waited for Toni to come back. “But Toni said you were at the hospital this weekend to do treatment. Chemo, and whatnot.”

“It was to get my port removed,” Bernice corrects gently. She moves her shirt again, showing nothing but a bandage where a port would have gone in her chest. “I got the port taken out, and I discussed with my doctors what the decline will look like.”

All Shelby can say is, “But…”

“I know it’s hard for you to understand,” Bernice says, and there’s a bit of laughter in her voice when she says, “And I’m sorry this is the first conversation we’re having in six years. But I want to die on my own terms, in my own home. My husband is gone, my kids are grown. What would I be staying here for? What would I be fighting for?" Her hands shake as she reaches out as if to comfort Shelby, but they drop back into her lap. "I don’t want to fight any more.”

And there it is, the sheer exhaustion leaking from every part of Bernice. The way it looks like it takes the breath out of her to sit up straight, the tremor in her fingers, the slow blink of her eyelids.

Realistically, Shelby knows you can’t just _decide_ to die. She knows that for Bernice’s doctor to have cleared her for surgery to remove her port, he must have been completely on board, and maybe he even advised it.

Still, she says hesitantly, “I understand you’d be sad about this, but —“

“It’s not a sad decision, Shelby,” Bernice says, cutting her off amicably. “It’s a peaceful one. I’m at peace with my future.”

“But you could _try_ ,” Shelby says, unable to come up with anything much more eloquent than that.

It makes Bernice smile, though. “You sound like Toni.”

“She’s often right,” Shelby counters.

“Not about this,” Bernice says firmly. She looks around helplessly, as if looking for something she’ll never find. “Toni put her entire future and the beginning of her life on hold just to prioritize the end of mine.”

“She didn’t think it was the end,” Shelby interjects.

“No,” Bernice agrees, “and in a way that was worse. I let her think she had some control over this, like she would magically nurse me back to health.”

“Why didn’t you tell her?” Shelby asks, although she’s seen Toni when she’s sad, so she can pretty much guess why.

“At first I was optimistic. I thought maybe luck would pull through, and I would actually go into remission,” Bernice explains with a shrug. Her smile is almost pitying at her past self when she continues, “But that didn’t happen, obviously. And then I just kept putting it off. And now it’s just too late. I’m not going to ruin the last bit of time she has with me.”

“Let her have hope,” Shelby says, nodding lightly. “Fair enough.” Bernice watches her expectantly, as if waiting for an answer, and sits patiently as the rest of the conversation catches up to Shelby. “But even after you’re gone," Shelby continues, cringing at how that feels to say, "I don’t know. I mean... she’s happy here.”

“She’s wrong,” Bernice says meaningfully. “She’s — well, you _both_ have always been destined for so much more than this small town. That’s why _you_ left. And that’s why Toni wanted to go with.”

“She thinks I’m happy here, too,” Shelby adds, but Bernice immediately starts shaking her head again. With a purse of her lips, Shelby realizes she's been doing that a lot during this conversation, and she wonders how the two of them could have been so wrong about so many things.

“You’re not happy _here,_ ” Bernice sighs, almost exasperatingly. “You’re happy when you’re _together_.”

“But Toni always wanted me to come back,” Shelby says, although as soon as she does, she realizes she doesn’t actually know that that’s true; it’s just what she assumed.

“Because it just happens to be that you spent most of your time together in Tupelo,” Bernice says, and there’s some amusement lingering in her words at the idea that after all these years, neither Shelby nor Toni figured it out. “She felt like you should come back because you’d never been anywhere else together. That doesn’t mean you can’t be. That doesn’t mean you won’t be. And, quite frankly, no offense to your parents, but you probably _shouldn’t_ stay here.”

That idea seems so obvious now that Bernice’s just said it that Shelby doesn’t know how she never saw that before. Tupelo really isn’t even a great city, it was just spending the day _with_ Toni that was the fun part. And when she thinks about it more, her career _is_ a lot of fun, and she _does_ enjoy where she lives. The major missing part was only ever that she didn’t have anyone to share it with.

Shelby can only wonder why Bernice never said anything to Toni before, but shrugs and asks, “So, what do you want me to do?”

“Stay until I’m gone,” Bernice says quietly. The way she looks out the window as if that’s her destination makes it seem like it won’t be long.

“Until…” Shelby trails off, but then it hits her. Her jaw clenches, once, as she swallows. Ignoring the fact that she knows without even glancing at her calender that she has a million obligations to fulfill, she says immediately, “Of course.”

Bernice’s gaze flickers up towards the door, where there’s a framed photograph of the Blackburn family — Bernice, Russell, Martha, and Toni —, and then settles on Shelby again. Her gaze is piercing, and her next words feel like a prayer. “Stay until I’m gone,” she repeats, “and when you leave, take Toni with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twitter: miataylorhealey  
> tumblr: quinnfebrey

**Author's Note:**

> your comments always make my day. can't wait to go on this fic's journey w you guys :D
> 
> quinnfebrey on tumblr, come chat!


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